I do not think I'll get used to winter ever. I keep on living but inside I have been on strike and protest. The vital functions and intellectuals are the irreducible minimum.
The cold freezes my thoughts and my emotions and I would love to be one of those animals with the advance of the cold goes into hibernation, waiting for the sun melts the snow and back on the colors. I love to sleep in the morning and this time I have to force myself to throw myself out of bed and face another day.
The winter has its good points here to the sea, empty beaches, the sea roaring on the move against the wind that sweeps with such cruelty, the smell of salt air that seems to invade and dominate every other smell. They are all fascinating and attractive aspects for me.
The streets are teeming with people during the summer are completely deserted. You only see cars. No one walking or cycling adventure this season. It is not because face colder here than elsewhere, but the humidity is so high that seems to be colder than the thermometer indicates.
When I think of winter, I am always reminded of Ingmar Bergman's autobiography, The Magic Lantern, describes so well the mood to read this book was like reading a piece of me, how I feel this season. And this artist was so full of poetry that melts the heart with its tenderness.
And you what happens in winter?
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