And finally Margaret Atwood:

This is the solstice, the still point
of the sun, its cusp and midnight
the year’s threshold
and unlocking, where the past
lets go of and becomes the future;
the place of caught breath, the door
of a vanished house left ajar.

Pelydr gwan
Ar gylch cerrig…
Robin goch
Yn lladd dryw…
Dau heb lety
Ym Methlehem…
A’r noson hiraf
Yn disgwyl y golau.

Winter moon rising over white fields
Nearby wren rustling dry leaves
Distant owl echoing
Two people walking up the road laughing

Anon

“He listened, and thought that he could hear a very low, deep and softly humming tone in the silence itself. Perhaps it came from the ice that was freezing itself deeper and deeper down in the sea.”

Tove Jansson

“Au milieu de l’hiver j’apprenais enfin qu’il y aurait en moi un été invincible.”

Camus

“The dead feeling of winter. Something waits beneath it”

Andrew Wyeth

“… I’ve grown fond of winters because I feel they are real, unlike summer which flies by and seems fun and flirty, but isn’t, because the sun is always in a hurry and leaves us wanting more”

Marcela Serrano

“…me he aficionado a los inviernos porque siento que son de verdad, no como el verano que pasa volando y parece divertido y coqueto pero no lo es porque el sol siempre está apurado y deja a todos con ganas.”

Marcela Serrano