Winter has officially arrived. You can feel it in the early morning chill, see it in the grey skies rolling in, and hear it in the steady rhythm of rain against the windows. For some, it’s a season to endure. For me, it’s one to embrace.

There’s something deeply comforting about winter. It invites you to slow down, to trade the rush of summer for quieter moments. To wrap yourself in blankets, cradle a warm cup of coffee, and sit a little longer beside the fireplace while the world outside turns cold and wet.

Flooding in Cape Town

But this past weekend, winter reminded us that it is not always gentle. Heavy rains battered parts of the city, leaving flooding and damage in their wake. For many families, the season did not arrive with cosy blankets and warm drinks, but with rising water, soaked belongings and uncertainty. My heart goes out to those who have been affected — especially those who have lost their homes or have nowhere to go. It’s a stark reminder that while winter can feel magical for some, it can be incredibly harsh for others.

It puts things into perspective.

Because while I’m lighting a fire and reaching for another jersey, there are people trying to stay dry, trying to stay warm, trying to hold onto what they have. And inside my home, winter looks very different. My three-year-old son is firmly convinced it is still summer.

Socks are optional

Every morning begins with a negotiation — socks being the main point of contention. To him, they are unnecessary and deeply offensive. To me, they are essential. “Just try them,” I say, holding out a small pair. “No,” he replies, without hesitation.

Then comes the wardrobe debate. While I’m layering up, he’s pointing at shorts and T-shirts as if the weather outside is merely a suggestion. Explaining winter to a toddler is no easy task.

“It’s cold,” I tell him. “But the sun is there,” he says, pointing out the window. And in his mind, that settles it. Because sun means one thing: beach.

So when I explain that we can’t go, the confusion is real. Why would anyone not go to the beach if the sun is visible? It’s a fair question — one that logic struggles to answer when you’re three years old.

After one such conversation, he paused, looked up at the sky, and asked, “Is the sun on holiday?” And just like that, winter made perfect sense.

Because that’s exactly what it feels like sometimes — like the sun has taken a break, leaving clouds, wind and rain behind. It still makes the occasional appearance, just enough to remind us it hasn’t disappeared entirely.

But it doesn’t linger. I tried to explain this to him — that the sun is still there, just not as warm, not as strong. He wasn’t convinced. In his world, things are simple. Warm means outside. Sun means beach. Socks are optional.

The recent flooding has reminded us how vulnerable so many people are when the rains come. And maybe that’s the balance winter asks of us — to find comfort where we can, while remaining aware of those who cannot. To be grateful, but not unaware. So while I sit with my coffee and my blanket, and continue the daily battle over socks, I’m holding space for both realities. The cosy and the difficult. The laughter and the loss.

And somewhere in between, a small voice still asking whether the sun will be back from holiday tomorrow. I tell him yes. Even if, for now, winter is here to stay.

READ ALSO: Christmas cheer in a tough economy