"Old age comes on suddenly, and not gradually as is thought." Emily Dickinson
The Writer's Almanac pointed the way to this thought of Henry David Thoreau about winter.
In winter we lead a more inward life. Our hearts are warm and cheery, like cottages under drifts, whose windows and doors are half concealed, but from whose chimneys the smoke cheerfully ascends.
I don't think I ever appreciated the season so explicitly. I've noticed instead, and often celebrated, the awakening of our home and yard from winter as neighbors emerge from theirs and resume play and outdoor activities. There are more celebations of the solstice at Spirituality and Practice.