There is a soul-serving power in going outside at least once a day. Even in the winter, when it seems like the most inhospitable place to be, a simple and quick walkabout can cure the milder winter blues that may be afflicting one. In these days of telecommuting and staying at home, these little breaks can be necessary acts of survival. For me, they simply reinvigorate the constitution.
In a week like this, ravaged by winter storms and plummeting temperatures, there is still a joy in stepping into the crisp air, a jolting embrace by the season, like some overzealous priest who grinds his hands too deeply into a young altar boy’s shoulder. There could be danger there, or there could be innocence, just like the fall of snow.
This particular storm brought about layers of ice and sleet, ending with a few inches of pure snow, the top inch or so of which was this fine and crystallized powder, fluffy enough to be whipped into the air by the slightest wind, ready to sparkle and reflect the sun in whirling slivers of light.
The tracks of some brave little animal run through the front yard. And maybe the creature wasn’t brave at all, maybe it was merely running, out of fear or desperation or hunger.
There is always hunger in the winter.
