As much as I love cold weather and curling up with a hot drink and a good book, winter is not my favorite time of year.

There’s something inherently stressful about it. Knowing the end of the year is looming sends me into a panic about what I have and haven’t accomplished and what I’ll do better next year. And then there’s the holidays–I love spending time with my family, but there are lingering effects from being a child of divorce and this time of year tends to make me think of long hours spent in unfamiliar company when I’d have much preferred to be at home.

Something about winter reminds me that time is fleeting. And sure, January will just roll the clock back and we’ll begin again and I’ll feel the surge of endless potential that comes from a new start, but for now it’s kind of like the sun is setting for good, and I’m scrambling to get my affairs in order before the long dark sets in and I’m left with no candles to see by.

But I’ll reflect later. Here’s a drabble.

PERHIEMATE

(Noun: Latin per- for through + heims for winter + -atum for something acted upon)

To spend the winter.

The monsters come out when the snow falls.

While others huddle inside, hands held in front of fires to chase the chill away, she heads out, sword in hand, her sweater tugged up about her throat. She doesn’t feel the cold anymore, but what few stragglers there are look at her curiously if she goes out with bare arms. They don’t seem to notice the sword.

The monsters lurk between the trees with their mouths lolled open, their hot, reeking breath stirring the bare branches. They remain out of sight when she passes by, trembling, but not from the cold.