In her beautiful bookWintering: The Power of Rest and Retreat in Difficult Times, Katherine May notes that winter is "a time for libraries, the muffled quiet of bookstacks and the scent of pages and dust." I absolutely concur, although since the pandemic, I've spent winters in my home library, not the public library. Winter, more than any other season, is when I dig in to reading and writing and the work of recovery (which, for me, is in large part a lot of reading and writing).
When the days start getting shorter and colder, I give myself permission to get out the flannel sheets and fuzzy pajamas, the dark hot chocolate and a puzzle, and wood for our fireplace. It's in my winter cocoon that I feel drawn to look inward, less distracted by beaches and barbecues.
I recover during every season, of course. But winter provides the perfect setting for the solitude that I need to really investigate where I am on my journey.
Journaling, reading, and healing beside a crackling fire is magical. Try it sometime.
Winter invites us to retreat into our recovery; I accept the invitation gladly.