Dear Winter,

I’m glad you’re here. Truly.

I’ve been mentally tying your arrival to the end of a long, disruptive chapter—a major home renovation that has consumed more time, energy, and attention than I care to admit. You’ve arrived just in time, and I’m grateful for the clean handoff. The house is finally habitable again. The tools are mostly accounted for. Life feels ready to slow down.

Bring the cold. I’m prepared.

Well. Almost.

If you don’t mind, could you hold off just a little on the snow? I’m behind in the garden in ways that feel more emotional than practical. Leaves still sit in the boxwood. Gloves are misplaced. There are small, unfinished gestures everywhere—things that usually signal closure before winter fully settles in.

I know these details don’t really matter. The garden will survive. But gardens have a way of amplifying whatever we’re already carrying.

This fall, I’ve found comfort in order. I’ve been paying more attention to edges—staking driveway lines, marking transitions, drawing clear boundaries between grass and asphalt. Some of that was necessity. Some of it was simply soothing. There’s reassurance in knowing where things begin and end, especially when so much else has felt unsettled.

Winter, you’re good at that. You draw a line whether we’re ready or not.

Over the next week or two, I’ll finish the ritual tasks—checking tools, laying things out where I can reach them easily, making sure the snow blower still cooperates. These small preparations feel almost ceremonial. They remind me that readiness isn’t about perfection, just intention.

There are things I didn’t get to this year. Perennials I meant to move. Shrubs I planned to divide. I’ll let them wait. I’m learning—again—that not everything needs fixing before rest is allowed.

So here’s my request. Be kind, but not indulgent. Stay long enough to offer quiet and perspective, but don’t linger forever. And if you happen to grant us one of those brief, generous returns to October—just a weekend, maybe—I wouldn’t complain. There’s a new pole saw I’d like to try, and a few last lines I wouldn’t mind drawing in the dirt.

Until then, I’ll settle in. The garden and I will take the pause you insist upon.

Warmly,
Rochelle

Keywords: seasonal gardening, garden essays, fall to winter transition