One last thought of winter in anticlimatic

Just had an interesting burst of memory. The downstairs bedroom of my grandparents house when I was a kid, in the dark, with a smell of winter and old potpourri. The walls smelled too, I think. They were grey wood. Old barn wood I was told, repurposed. Their TV power knob had a more satisfying ‘click’ than anything before or after it. What an alien world that was. When who knew what was over the ridge or beyond the pastures? Glimpses of the outside world via radio, newspaper, or television were somewhat random- hit or miss. But I remember seeing the trees, by the light of the moon on the snow, through that bedroom window bending in a silent breeze but not moving, and I remember thinking about all the possible warm places out there beyond the dark.