Vodka and Cats

Winter’s Near

Winter’s near in Texas. You may not feel it yet, but it’s getting closer. The rain that brought the humidity to sit in our heads all day will soon be the vaporous air we exhale between our cupped hands’ fingers. 

Winter’s near in Texas.

I know, that before long, I’ll start to see hands clasped tight through knit gloves, mittens, and rolled down sleeves. Baptismal pavements reflecting gray sheets of clouds. On occasion, the sun will peek through wondering if we’re still just as she left us. If all fairs well, you’ll be okay. You have each other.

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Winter’s near in Texas. I can see that now. I can hear it not in the hiss of the tires on the dampened streets, or the hints of Christmas bombarding me not-so-subtly through every media outlet. I can hear it in the music from the winters I spent with another warm body.

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There’s a greater comfort that comes with tangled limbs, desperately trying to find the perfect position to lie in a sea of sheets. There’s an even greater comfort when you’re treading thread-counts to a soundtrack. My winter cinematic scores consisted of listening to Bloc Party’s “This Modern Love” on an iPod playlist walking from my old dorm’s stoop to my then girlfriend’s dorm lobby. I would drive and listen to Death Cab For Cutie’s albums on shuffle and “repeat all” until the long drive from College Station to Dallas was over.

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There’s a static that’s felt through pillow slips and blankets rather than heard through speakers. You’d have the music going all day and through the night. Sufjan would sing lullabies on the nights you just wanted to snuggle. And some nights would be lit and scored by Explosions in the Sky with a morning’s light accompanied by Sigur Ros.

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Winter’s near in Texas, and it isn’t always about the weather. 

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What do you listen to?