What a wild winter week it’s been, with whispers of war carrying on the wind and the wicked tumult of a world that is inconceivably giving space and possibility to thoughts of encroaching autocracy. While I wonder and shake my head at such notions, let’s get on with this recap, and close our February chapter of 2022 with a dismal thud. 

A raging wind was tempered with a focused meditation. 

The day of 2.

Slowing it down.

A shirtless Shawn Mendes post was precisely what this week needed. 

Sparkling light makes a thing go right. 

My brother’s birthday. 

Amid the snow, signs of spring slowly emerge.

Some sweet heat for the stomach and the soul.

Brown and desiccated, but brought back to life.

Dazzlers of the Day included Claybourne Elder, Christine Baranski, Ryan Eggold, Jesse Palmer, Volodymyr Zelenskyy, and this amazingly courageous Ukrainian woman. 

These dried hydrangea blooms were captured before the fall of snow and the heavy blanket currently encasing the land. They are proof of winter’s enduring beauty. At first glance, they look too dainty and delicate to survive a single night of winter weather, but do not let their papery looks deceive you: they are strong and durable, standing up to rain, wind, ice, snow and all the rest that Mother Nature has piled on them this season. Such strength and determination to remain, in the face of a world so seemingly determined to destroy, is the sort of resistance that the very best of us can find inspiring. 

A gentle but defiant start to this Sunday. 

The outside world may be covered in a heavy blanket of snow, but inside the houseplants are showing signs of new growth, indicating that we are closer to spring than it appears or feels. This ficus was a birthday gift from ‘Aunt’ Elaine a few years ago. Every winter it drops a few of its leaves, as if making way for the new crop of fresh ones that start pushing through now. 

Our ‘Audrey’ ficus is making similar motions, heralding the early change in seasons even as a snowstorm rages right outside the window. Soon the fig trees we have overwintering in the garage will begin to swell and burst with their first leaves. 

With all the news of late – such atrocities here and abroad that I can’t even begin to formulate a way to express my sadness and concern – I find it calming to return the focus to these simple leaves, daring to come through when winter still holds us in its wicked grip. 

Whether captured in a sphere of crystals or crackling at the top of a wooden-wicked candle, a little flame holds all the warmth and light a winter night needs to recede into the shadows. The last stretch of winter is always the longest, and usually comes with the worst storms. March is tricky that way. 

After last year, when winter lingered longer than necessary, and summer failed to properly arrive at all, we learned that we couldn’t be dependent on the weather for happiness, as much as it augmented the feeling. And so, whatever may come, we will trudge through it, feeling hope when winter wanes, feeling frustration when spring stalls, but feeling it all and moving on the next day. 

For a few days now I’ve been gleefully gloating over the fact that we are well over halfway through with the final full month of winter, happy to report on the rushed hustle winter has suddenly decided to take. The days were gladly crossed off whatever calendar was in my vicinity, and winter weeks ticked away, lost without regret or mourning, and here we are, with just a week of February left. As is often the case in these twist-filled lessons, I find myself wanting it to slow and stop now, to pause and dwell here in this moment, where the magic of winter is still at work, the way it can always be at work when we work to be present and mindful. 

I’m reminded in the gentle words of a friend that it’s never too late. She was being ambiguous, droning on with tried and true cliches, and though they echoed with emptiness, they also echoed with comfort. 

Rather than rushing us through the rest of the winter, I will re-connect with the intention to be mindful, to be present, to be here for all of the moments, especially with the ones I love. I felt myself rushing on a recent Sunday when I was departing from Boston. Attempting to avoid Sunday traffic, I was antsy to get on the road, while Kira stalled a bit, taking her time and inadvertently showing me a different way to live. 

And here I am, already jumping ahead to the end of the weekend when I want to go back and do it all over again, enjoying every moment, being mindful of the time we had together,  making it all count when it happens rather than when it’s over. I will slow it down, and tell the story in a little while.