Blog Dis
Winter is a sound
2025-11-13
Every Sunday, back in the days when this wonderful show was on the air (Inside the Actor's Studio), I waited for 5 pm, to catch every new episode.
I've been attracted to the arts since I was a wee lassie. There's something magical about the fantastic world of the Arts, where anything and everything happens. At the end of every show, the host asked each guest a series of questions, developed by a Frenchman whose name I'm saddened to admit escapes me at present. Regardless, one of the questions was: "What is your favourite sound?" My answer is Winter. The sound of winter to me is distinct and comforting and, it's a sound all its own and not unlike anything else.
Winter is the sound of snow crunching under your feet as you walk around town.
Winter is the sound of ice creaking, like voices being carried across a frozen pond, cleanly and crisply.
Winter is the sound of birds hidden in the spruce trees, huddled together, chirping like mad, as tho' they're immersed in a great debate on the state of affairs.
Winter is the sound of serenity at night when everyone has long gone to bed.
Winter is the sound of white and crystal blue when rain falls as the temperature unexpectedly warms up and then suddenly drops.
Winter is the sound of tires spinning, unable to gain traction on the black ice, in the parking lot.
Winter is the sound of a hard thump, as an individual loses balances and tumbles, landing on their posterior.
Winter is the sound of kids playing street hockey in the middle of a road, in burbs, and how cars honk to warn them, to pull the net to the road's side, in order that the car may pass.
Winter is the sound of the fireplace crackling, dressed all cozy and comfy in wool socks, a hot rum-toddy clutched between both hands.
Winter is not like summer.
Summer is freaking noisy as all get out, with cars and motorcycles, and endless construction, while groups of inebriates teeter, after the bars have closed, yelling at the top of their lungs like drunken fools. Don't get me wrong. I appreciate summer. I adore my cycling in summer or sitting on a balcony to enjoy bevvies in the sun. However, summer doesn't compare to the brilliance of peace and quiet that comes in winter, the snow an insulating buffer, like a hush, as you take your early morning stroll and feel all alone.
I sleep better in winter, more so when the frigid cold creeps into my bedroom, thru a crack in my window, in the pitch-black atmosphere of darkness blanketing the sky so very early in the night.
If some contend that silence is a sound by virtue of the fact that silence represents the absence of sound, then so is Winter a sound, a collection of sounds of muffled voices carried atop the snow and ice, not held in the leaves or trees, rather floating out there in the atmosphere then disappearing into the dark night.
The snow is already flying. It's time for me to get my skates sharpened, to ensure that the blades will be sharp and ready to cut a neat and tidy line on the ice. I also enjoy skating season on the Rideau Canal in Ottawa, our claim to fame: the largest outdoor skating rink in the world.
When I skate the canal, I dress in layers, without earbuds. I want to hear the sound of my breath as I glide on the ice, and skate the canal's full length. The best time to skate is after midnight, when its dark and quiet, to fully appreciate the sounds of winter.
Winter is coming.
I've been attracted to the arts since I was a wee lassie. There's something magical about the fantastic world of the Arts, where anything and everything happens. At the end of every show, the host asked each guest a series of questions, developed by a Frenchman whose name I'm saddened to admit escapes me at present. Regardless, one of the questions was: "What is your favourite sound?" My answer is Winter. The sound of winter to me is distinct and comforting and, it's a sound all its own and not unlike anything else.
Winter is the sound of snow crunching under your feet as you walk around town.
Winter is the sound of ice creaking, like voices being carried across a frozen pond, cleanly and crisply.
Winter is the sound of birds hidden in the spruce trees, huddled together, chirping like mad, as tho' they're immersed in a great debate on the state of affairs.
Winter is the sound of serenity at night when everyone has long gone to bed.
Winter is the sound of white and crystal blue when rain falls as the temperature unexpectedly warms up and then suddenly drops.
Winter is the sound of tires spinning, unable to gain traction on the black ice, in the parking lot.
Winter is the sound of a hard thump, as an individual loses balances and tumbles, landing on their posterior.
Winter is the sound of kids playing street hockey in the middle of a road, in burbs, and how cars honk to warn them, to pull the net to the road's side, in order that the car may pass.
Winter is the sound of the fireplace crackling, dressed all cozy and comfy in wool socks, a hot rum-toddy clutched between both hands.
Winter is not like summer.
Summer is freaking noisy as all get out, with cars and motorcycles, and endless construction, while groups of inebriates teeter, after the bars have closed, yelling at the top of their lungs like drunken fools. Don't get me wrong. I appreciate summer. I adore my cycling in summer or sitting on a balcony to enjoy bevvies in the sun. However, summer doesn't compare to the brilliance of peace and quiet that comes in winter, the snow an insulating buffer, like a hush, as you take your early morning stroll and feel all alone.
I sleep better in winter, more so when the frigid cold creeps into my bedroom, thru a crack in my window, in the pitch-black atmosphere of darkness blanketing the sky so very early in the night.
If some contend that silence is a sound by virtue of the fact that silence represents the absence of sound, then so is Winter a sound, a collection of sounds of muffled voices carried atop the snow and ice, not held in the leaves or trees, rather floating out there in the atmosphere then disappearing into the dark night.
The snow is already flying. It's time for me to get my skates sharpened, to ensure that the blades will be sharp and ready to cut a neat and tidy line on the ice. I also enjoy skating season on the Rideau Canal in Ottawa, our claim to fame: the largest outdoor skating rink in the world.
When I skate the canal, I dress in layers, without earbuds. I want to hear the sound of my breath as I glide on the ice, and skate the canal's full length. The best time to skate is after midnight, when its dark and quiet, to fully appreciate the sounds of winter.
Winter is coming.
