winter as threshold

what i’m looking forward to this season, ins/outs, moodboard, and a reading list

waking up to snow on a quiet January morning, Belgium 2021

Hello Winter.

November got us ready for you, easing us into the coldest season through its subtle gloomth. The air shifted, the wind turned biting all of a sudden, and the days grew shorter as we drew our breath. Mittens, scarves, and thermal clothing gradually became part of my daily routine. It’s a season that dims itself without us lifting a finger. We enter tiptoeing in warm socks, cradling a mug of hot cocoa with a dash of cinnamon or a generous amount of marshmallows.

December is a little shy when it comes to winter, often easier to love than January and February. With the solstice acting as a pause rather than a peak, the shortest day, the longest night, and the slow return of light afterwards. The festive season keeps us warm a little longer as we gather to celebrate the end of the year. As I discussed in my previous article, Christmas no longer holds the same magic for me. It’s within winter itself that I find solace instead. It invites slowness in a way other seasons do not, asking us for gentleness, inwardness, and care. Comfort is found in routine and repetition as the world feels quieter.

I don’t want to end the year with a bang, only to start a new one all over again. That’s why I’m leaning towards a more low-key celebration, almost treating the end of the year like just another month ending, only with extra twinkly lights and good food. We often feel pressure to start anew after the holidays. And while I do love a fresh start, whether it’s a new year, a new season, a new month, or even a new week, I’d rather let it unfurl slowly as the previous year folds in on itself.

With the shift from summer to autumn, there has been a lot of discussion around Seasonal Affective Disorder. I don’t get SAD in autumn or early winter. For me, it usually hits at the end of January and peaks in February, when the newness of the year has faded, and no amount of hot drinks can distract me from the cold. Especially when winter in Edinburgh drags into March, while the rest of the world seems ready for spring cleaning, pulling shorts and flip-flops out of storage.

While I’m very much a homebody, I don’t want winter to turn into hibernation. There are so many little things to enjoy if we allow ourselves to meet the season where it is. I love going for walks when the air is crisp, the sky its clearest blue, and the sun just warm enough to tickle the skin. I’m looking forward to finding comfort in cafés, pen in hand or typing away for this newsletter. Going out without a warm drink will be a crime in my book. I just got a new tumbler mug from Kinto, and I plan to have it glued to my hands. Words will be consumed like air as I flip through books that act as plane tickets to other worlds, all while staying home, wrapped in a blanket and wool socks.

As I do every season, I’m pausing to mark the shift. To list what I’m looking forward to, to reset, reflect, and gather a few things to carry with me into the quiet months ahead.

Happy winter solstice, friends ❆

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THINGS I’M LOOKING FORWARD TO

warmth rituals

• slow mornings, staying in cosy pyjamas a little longer and letting the day begin gently.

• finding a new seasonal candle that will come to define this winter, something woody like a forest walk between pine trees or fresh like clean bedding straight from the laundry.

• evening wind-down rituals: a warm drink, a book, hands thawing slowly after the day.

• settling into bed, warmed in advance by a hot water bottle, sheets already inviting.

making staying in cool again

• experimenting with warm drinks: chai, spiced apple, earthy hojicha, comforting turmeric latte, hot cocoa with melted chocolate piled high with whipped cream.

• baking sessions, decorating cookies, flour everywhere and no pressure for perfection.

• craft afternoons and shared creative time with friends, making things simply for the sake of it.

• quiet evenings shared rather than busy nights out, with cheese, charcuterie, and board games making staying in feel intentional.

• movie nights at home, low lights, soft blankets, and something warm in hand.

embracing the cold

• heading outside at the first sight of snow, enjoying crisp winter walks wrapped in a beanie, scarf, gloves, and wool socks, all non-negotiable.

• lingering in cafés and people-watching, sitting by the window with a book and watching the city move at its own pace.

• marking the winter solstice with a quiet hike, a pause, noticing the return of the light.

• pink winter skies, catching them in the morning between bites of breakfast or early in the afternoon as the sun slips away.

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❅ ins:

☐ letting winter set the pace, slower, softer, and more intentional.
☐ dimmed lighting, small lamps, and candles at any hour of the day.
☐ cosy rituals that repeat daily, warm drinks, early nights, quiet evenings.
☐ cooking seasonally and simply, leaning into warmth and nourishment.
☐ winter scents, pine candles, roasted chestnuts, freshly baked cinnamon rolls, apple compote simmering on the stove, eucalyptus essential oil.
☐ bringing the outside in with natural textures and greenery.
☐ creating a winter tbr that invites depth rather than speed.
☐ long conversations, board games, and making staying in feel special.
☐ crisp walks followed by deliberate rest, a warm shower or a long bath.
☐ hot water bottles tucked into bed before sleep.
☐ caring for myself gently, without needing winter to be productive.

❆ outs:

☐ overconsumption disguised as seasonal cheer.
☐ harsh overhead lighting once the days grow darker.
☐ excessive screen time and doomscrolling through dark evenings.
☐ forcing productivity when rest is what’s needed.
☐ rushing evenings instead of letting them soften.
☐ filling silence with noise rather than letting it breathe.
☐ treating staying in as a failure rather than a choice.
☐ ignoring the body’s signals to slow down and warm up.

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MOODBOARD

This winter, I’m gravitating towards warmth and quietness. Nothing loud or glittery, comfort above all. Stripped back silhouettes, oversized sweaters, layered scarves, candlelit amber moods as I flip through the pages of a good book. Wool and knit textures, a simple colour palette where black and grey shine. Layers, layers, and more layers.

I’m drawn to the winter light slipping between curtains, the quiet of slow mornings by the window watching the snow accumulate, and the warmth of a mug shared with a friend. I’m longing for snow. In 2023, it came on the 30th of December. Last year, on the 23rd of November. I’m holding onto the hope that we’ll soon wake up to a winter wonderland, ready to marvel at nature’s palette.

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What’s inspiring you this season?

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WINTER READING LIST

My winter stack leans close to characters’ inner worlds. These books are less about plot and more about what it feels like to exist. Loneliness, longing, obsession, alienation, quiet despair, and private joy. They aren’t winter-coded in setting, but in tone. They move slowly through thought, memory, and emotion rather than action.

Some books are carried over from my autumn reading list, and others will be my first encounter with their author. Most are charity shop finds. I think it’s time for the library and me to take a little break again.

• White Nights by Fyodor Dostoevsky (tr. Ronald Meyer)
  My first Dostoevsky, I’m starting small before tackling one of his bricks.

• To The Lighthouse by Virginia Woolf
  This edition is so beautiful, and a little souvenir from my trip to Stockholm.

• The Door by Magda Szabó (tr. Len Rix)
  My first Szabó.

• Angel by Elizabeth Taylor
  You can rarely go wrong with a Virago writer.

• Under a Glass Bell by Anaïs Nin
  A little spice and all things nice.

• The Trick Is to Keep Breathing by Janice Galloway
  Mental illness, fragmentation, it doesn’t get much more winter-coded than that.

• Stoner by John Williams
  It’s been a long time coming.

• The Poppy War by R.F. Kuang
  I’ve read all her standalones; it’s time to finally tackle the trilogy.

• Madonna In A Fur Coat by Sabahattin Ali (tr. M. Freely & A. Dawe)
  The fur coat, the quiet obsession, the loneliness. I’ve been saving this one for winter.

• Black Box by Shiori Itō (tr. Allison Markin Powell)
  Important reading.

• Slouching Towards Bethlehem by Joan Didion
  I’m coming for the cool girl energy.

• Les Années by Annie Ernaux (en: The Years)
  Maybe I should start the new year with this one.

Of course, I’ll be mood-reading and swapping titles as the weeks go on. But I love having a small pile to pull from, books resting on my nightstand, near the sofa, or tucked into my bag.

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This winter, I’m choosing warmth over spectacle, rhythm over resolution, and care over urgency. Letting the season meet me where I am, rather than asking it to be anything more. It feels less about doing and more about being.

A season to soften the edges, to notice what holds, and to move at a pace that feels kind.

What small things are you looking forward to this winter?
Which rituals help you feel held?
How will you let the season unfold, on your own terms?

Until next time,

Amandine

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You can revisit my past seasonal letters here:

autumn soft return

the season of escape

spring has (kinda) sprung

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