The Tunnel

Our firewood for the season arrives tomorrow. This weekend, when I change my bed sheets, I’ll be putting on the flannel ones for the first time this year — a small ritual that always signals the real arrival of colder days. A friend told me she’s noticed the local squirrels gathering acorns more frantically than usual. She insists it’s a sure sign of a cold winter ahead.

Honestly, this year has been a challenging one for me, though thankfully, nothing devastating has happened. It’s been a year of deep introspection and healing — a time to let myself truly feel. I think back to a year ago when I had a vision of myself standing at the entrance of a dark tunnel, knowing I had to walk through it. And I did. I revisited old traumas, peeling back the layers of flattened childhood memories and preverbal incidents that had long existed as mere stories, finally allowing myself to feel what I’d buried with them. Each cathartic release, each moment of primordial crying, left me feeling a little lighter.

Although I haven’t fully emerged from that tunnel, it no longer feels so dark. I used to dread winter, but maybe this one will bring me the coziness I need to nurture myself. There’s something comforting in the thought of hibernating a bit, tending to my inner world as the world outside cools and quiets.

And the good news about winter is that spring will eventually follow. I can feel the promise of renewal, even as I get ready for the cold to come.