The crows flew in the face of the sunrise, not giving a shit, save for whatever they dropped on the sidewalks below. The most insignificant bird, and the wisp of its fleeting silhouette, still has the power to block out the whole sun if the angles and the timing are just right. From our self-serving vantage point, we could hold the sun and the moon in our fingertips; if we were patient enough we could drag them across the sky and bury them again before morning.
In between the riotous winter storms and the spells of cold there is quiet in this season, and there is brutality and starkness in the silence. It stretches and expands into dry, gray nothingness, like shadow and salt and a limitless abyss. Winter’s silence is insidious. Its ice takes hold in beautiful crystalline form, cradling one in exquisite splendor, a cloak of feathery crystal wings – and before you realize what has happened you are frozen in place, unable to blink for the immobile water glazing over your eyes.
These are dark thoughts, not fit for the light of a day, no matter how stormy. Let us move onto something happier, even if the wind wants to push us back.
Oh the bluster of a day! Winnie-the-Pooh assembled a motley crew of friends and forest co-habitants, but for the most part he enjoyed his solitude, content to have a pot of honey as his only companion for the duration of a winter. Still, his heart did well to see the likes of Piglet and Eeyore and even Tigger. Especially on particularly blustery days, when the wind howled and icicles formed. On those days, I indulge in a cookie. A cup of hot chocolate. A book. Or a blog.
You are welcome to join me, and we can go through the winter together. ‘It’s so much friendlier with two.’
