The word cold has bite to it. Its crisp consonants resonate on my tongue like a snowflake, its white ice disappearing before I can feel it. The word blustery is similar. Like the winter wind, the word rolls like waves that move me. Backwards. How about frigid? There’s a word that stops me in my tracks. Stiff and motionless, but fragile, broken with a touch as sharp and soft as a mittened hand. Cracked. That’s a vivid word. Emanating the sound of splintering ice, slowly wrinkling then splitting apart into tiny teardrops as if they were never anything whole in the first place.
Describing the cold makes it beautiful. In words, even the most unbearable of things can be shaped, accepted, felt. Winter is not my least favorite season, if only because of its natural beauty. And, my boys love being dragged around on sleds, especially before the snow plows come around the street, and we can go straight up and down the hills smooth with the powder freshly fallen from the sky. They tumble off as I yank them hard on a curve, trying to get them to swing onto their backs and lay like angels in the snow. Red cheeks and cloudy breaths appearing in small puffs before they become invisible above their chilly faces. Their joy is crystals of nothing I can see, but it warms my body as I hear it in their laughter.
What words are beautiful to you? Show me.