One Minor Snow day a millennium ago, the poet Bai Juyi prepared newly brewed rice wine and penned a timeless invitation:

"My new brew gives green glow; my red clay stove flames up. At dusk it threatens snow. Won't you come for a cup?"

Minor Snow is the perfect time to warm a pot of wine in just this way—to exchange cherished words of care, and simply ask, "Are you well?"

Minor Snow marks the beginning of stillness.

The wind hushes the lingering echoes of autumn, while the clouds slow their drifting steps.

It is as if the world has been muted. Beneath a sheer veil of chill, all creation is nurturing a pristine dream.

So it is with us.

It is a time to sit solitary with a book, to warm wine for a guest, and to gather round the hearth for leisurely talk.

Gently lay aside the clamor of the passing year. Steep your cares in a pot of deepening tea, and let them slowly simmer into warmth.

Minor Snow is also the season for curing and pickling.

In the Jiangnan region, the seasonal scenery conceals the tender rituals of daily life:

In the pickling jars of Suzhou homes, snow mustard is indispensable. The verdant greens meld with salt, quietly waiting to become a dish of savory freshness come next spring. People in Nanjing hold to the old proverb: "Pickle greens in Minor Snow, cure meat in Major Snow." That vat in the courtyard holds the most reassuring essence of a Nanjing winter. In Yangzhou, jars are steeped with Chinese artichokes and gherkins, soaked in a rich, mellow sauce—a gentle, perfect accent to a bowl of congee or rice. And in Xuzhou, people hang up lustrous red "air-dried chickens," which firm up in the northern breeze to become the most solid comfort of the season.

To embrace this warmth of hearth and home is to hold the most grounding comfort of the entire winter.

These foods, transmuted by time, represent not only a preservation of flavor but the Chinese wisdom of living "in rhythm with the seasons."

After Minor Snow, the nights grow deeper, and the lights shine with a warmer glow.

Yet, we do not dread this chill.

For we know that only in the moments of profoundest silence can we hear the sound of falling snow, and see clearly the hearth fire burning within our own hearts.

Just as Major Snow is yet to arrive, Minor Snow is but a gentle prelude:

Now, you can truly settle down.

Live your time as a poem of your own—

waiting for the first snow that may fall,

awaiting a friend treading through the night,

reading that book left unfinished for so long.

Life need not always be filled to the brim;

sometimes, leaving space is the key to a richer wholeness.

Minor Snow is not the onset of cold, but the prologue to warmth.

It teaches us to wait in serenity,

and in that waiting, to nurture our deepest affections.

The quieting of all things is not a withering away,

but a silent preparation for a greater purity.

On this day of Minor Snow, I wish you a winter turned towards the warmth.

In the deepening chill, may you have:

Lights to welcome you home, and stories to warm your spirit;

someone to cherish in your thoughts, and a horizon worth the journey.

And may your world,

even if no snow falls outside your window,

remain bright within, and pristine as beginning.

——Peace and Joy on Minor Snow.