There is something almost dramatic about late winter.

Just when the sun begins to soften. Just when the snow starts to shrink. Just when we dare to imagine lighter mornings — winter comes back with one last storm.

Heavy snow in March. Ice that refuses to melt in the shade. A sharp wind that feels like January all over again.

It feels like winter’s desperate attempt to stay.

And I understand it.

I love winter. I love its discipline. Its quiet mornings. Its clean, white silence. Winter teaches us to slow down. To sit longer. To reflect more. It removes distraction. It asks for depth.

There is beauty in that.

But even the most beautiful season cannot stay forever.

Late winter always carries tension. It is a quiet conflict between what was and what is coming. The air feels undecided. The ground is confused. One day it freezes. The next day it drips with melting water.

Winter tightens its grip.

Spring pushes back.

It is not violent. It is not loud. But it is inevitable.

I sometimes think winter behaves like a part of us that resists change.

We get used to a certain rhythm. Even if it is cold. Even if it is lonely. Even if it is heavy.

There is safety in what we know.

Winter can symbolize those periods in life when we withdraw. When we protect ourselves. When we build quiet walls made of routine and emotional distance. Not because we are cold-hearted — but because we are tired. Or healing. Or thinking.

Winter has its purpose.

It allows rest. It allows recovery. It gives us space to breathe without pressure.

But if we stay there too long, rest becomes isolation.

Protection becomes avoidance.

Silence becomes disconnection.

That is why spring must come.

Not to insult winter. Not to erase it. But to continue the story.

When late winter sends one last storm, I don’t see it as anger anymore. I see it as reluctance. A season trying to prove it still has power.

But power is not the same as purpose.

Winter’s purpose was to slow the world down. To harden the ground. To make us look inward. And it did that well.

Now the ground must soften.

Now the rivers must move.

Now the light must stay longer in the sky.

Change is uncomfortable. Even when it is good.

We say we want growth. But growth means melting. It means letting the hard surface crack. It means admitting that what protected us is no longer needed in the same way.

And that is not easy.

Sometimes we cling to emotional winter because it feels controlled. Predictable. Safe.

But spring is not controlled. It is messy. It is uncertain. It is alive.

Winter is structured.

Spring is courageous.

There is a quiet moment each year when you can feel the shift. Not in the calendar. Not in the forecast. But in the air. The light looks different. The birds sound different. Even the silence changes its tone.

That is when you know winter is leaving.

Not defeated.

Completed.

And that is the important difference.

We do not need to hate our winters in order to welcome spring.

We do not need to regret the seasons of rest, grief, or emotional distance. They served us. They shaped us. They protected something fragile inside us.

But when it is time to go, it is time to go.

Even beautiful seasons must move forward.

I still love winter. I will miss the sharp air and the white mornings. But I will not ask it to stay longer than it should.

Because staying past your time turns strength into resistance.

And resistance, when it fights what is natural, only delays what is necessary.

Winter’s desperate attempt to stay is understandable.

But spring does not need permission.

And maybe neither do we.

GK

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Published by georgi.kisyov

28 thoughts on “Winter’s Desperate Attempt to Stay”

    1. March snow does feel heavier somehow… especially when it wraps itself around a date that already holds meaning. I can imagine how that must have felt on your daughter’s birthday — like winter refusing to let the day turn fully toward spring. Maybe now it can become part of the memory in a softer way… a reminder of how seasons, just like our children, keep growing no matter the weather. ❄️
      GK

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  9. Today I had a chance to visit a forest which last time I saw it was in mid-winter and all was frozen then. Today was somewhat a warm day , and I needed some fresh air. I saw some blossoms, but all of a sudden, I caught my thoughts – that – if I walk deeper into the forest, I will meet that frozen winter day again and be able to cool down and hide in there. I was shocked to feel so – all happening very fast, of course, but It kept me wondering, and then I found your words later at home. Such a nice synchronicity and maybe a message to relate to 😌 🙏

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    1. What a powerful moment to notice inside yourself. That instinct to walk deeper and “meet winter again” says so much about how familiar even the cold can feel. I love that you caught it, paused, and reflected instead of just following it. And then finding these words later… yes, that feels like one of those quiet synchronicities that gently taps us on the shoulder. 😌🙏
      GK

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  10. “There is a quiet moment each year when you can feel the shift. Not in the calendar. Not in the forecast. But in the air. The light looks different. The birds sound different. Even the silence changes its tone.”

    “But when it is time to go, it is time to go. Even beautiful seasons must move forward.”

    “But I will not ask it to stay longer than it should. Because staying past your time turns strength into resistance. And resistance, when it fights what is natural, only delays what is necessary.”
    Yes, this described exactly the between winter losing its grip and the hints of spring, and all the feelings that come with it. Why we hold on to what we do and why the change is coming that we can’t hold back. Why we don’t want to hold back and do at the same time – that tension.
    Great post! ~ Rosie

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    1. Rosie, you always notice the tension inside the words, and I appreciate that so much. That “in-between” space is never simple — part of us loosens its grip while another part still wants to hold on. Maybe that’s what makes change so human… we resist and accept at the same time. Thank you for seeing it so clearly, and for reading with such depth as always. 🤍
      GK

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    1. Isn’t that interesting how the same snow can mean joy in one season of life and stress in another? As children, we saw extra freedom. As adults, we see delays and responsibilities. Maybe that’s why it’s good to pause sometimes and remember how we once prayed for what we now complain about. ❄️
      GK

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  13. Interesting thoughts Georgi! This touched something tender in me, because winter doesn’t just live outside, it lives inside as well. There have been seasons when I withdrew quietly, not because I didn’t love life, but because something in me needed shelter. Winter gave me that. It gave me stillness when noise was too heavy, and space when my heart needed time to mend. Scripture says, “He giveth his beloved sleep” (Psalm 127:2), and I think sometimes winter is that sleep of the soul-God’s mercy wrapped in stillness.

    But you’re right… there comes a moment when what once protected us begins to hold us in place. And spring doesn’t force its way in. It simply arrives with gentle persistence-longer light, softer air, quiet reminders that life is meant to move again. “To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven” (Ecclesiastes 3:1).

    I see Winter as a preparation of sorts. Roots grow deeper in winter, hidden from sight. And when spring comes, the growth that appears suddenly was actually forming all along in secret.

    Thank you for this. Some part of me recognizes that shift in the air too. And I’m learning not to resist it.

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    1. Thank you for sharing this so openly. I love how you described winter as shelter, not escape — that kind of stillness can truly be mercy when the heart needs rest. The image of roots growing deeper in hidden places is beautiful, because it reminds us that nothing is wasted, even when it looks quiet on the surface. And yes… when the shift comes, it feels less like pressure and more like invitation. I’m grateful you felt that movement too.
      GK

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