Usually, the Moomins sleep through winter but in the story Moominland Midwinter by Tove Jansson, Moomintroll has woken up and ventures out on his own into the snowy landscape. He hopes to find others who are awake like him but finds most of them hibernating. As he plows through the snow, he experiences the joys and hazards of winter and manages to make a few friends along the way. At the end of the story, Moomintroll finds himself alone in a blizzard and a beautiful scene of resistance and surrender ensues. He realises that the blizzard is not only around him or outside of him, but that he is part of it. A dramatic description of what we potentially experience through breathing all the time, being an integral part of the atmosphere we exist in, from one breath to another.
I found this excerpt from Moominland Midwinter through an article in The Marginalian.
“Later in the evening the snow-fall stopped.
It was as if a light curtain had been drawn away, and there was a clear view again over the ice. Far out a dark-blue wall of clouds was still hiding the place where the sun had set.
Moomintroll watched the new and threatening weather rolling nearer. The sky darkened suddenly again. Moomintroll who had never seen a blizzard expected a thunderstorm and braced himself against the first claps of thunder that he thought would soon ring out.
But no thunder came, and no lightning either.
Instead a small whirl of snow rose from the white cap of one of the boulders by the shore.
Worried gusts of wind were rushing to and fro over the ice and whispering in the wood by the shore. The dark-blue wall rose higher, and the gusts became stronger.
Suddenly it was as if a great door had blown wide open, the darkness yawned, and everything was filled with wet, flying snow.
This time it didn’t come from above, it darted along the ground. It was howling and shoving like a living thing.
Moomintroll lost his balance and turned a somersault. In a trice his ears were full of snow, and he became frightened.
Time and all the world were lost. Everything he could feel and look at had blown away, only a bewitched whirl of damp and dancing darkness was left.
Any sensible person could have told him that this was the very moment when the long spring was born.
But there didn’t happen to be any sensible person on the shore, but only a confused Moomin crawling on all fours against the wind, in a totally wrong direction.
He crawled and crawled, and the snow bunged up his eyes and formed a little drift on his snout. Moomintroll became more and more convinced that this was a trick the winter had decided to play him, with the intention of showing him simply that he couldn’t stand it.
First it had taken him in by its beautiful curtain of slowly falling flakes, and then it threw all the beautiful snow in his face at the very moment he believed that he had started to like winter.
By and by Moomintroll became angry.
He straightened up and tried to shout at the gale. He hit out against the snow and also whimpered a little, as there was nobody to hear him.
Then he tired.
He turned his back to the blizzard and stopped fighting it.
Not until then did Moomintroll notice that the wind felt warm. It carried him along into the whirling snow, it made him feel light and almost like flying.
“I’m nothing but air and wind, I’m part of the blizzard,” Moomintroll thought and let himself go.
“It’s almost like last summer. You first fight the waves, then you turn around and ride the surf, sailing along like a cork among the little rainbows of the foam, and land laughing and just a little frightened in the sand.”
Moomintroll spread out his arms and flew.
“Frighten me if you can,” he thought happily. “I’m wise to you now. You’re no worse than anything else when one gets to know you. Now you won’t be able to pull my leg any more.”
And the winter danced him all along the snowy shore, until he stumbled across the snowed-in landing-stage and ploughed his snout through a snowdrift.”