The temperature has dropped and the wind is causing chaos among the leaves.

I pull on a sweater.

It doesn’t take the chill away.

A look at the sky says there’s weather on the horizon – there’s a storm headed our way.

The storm started yesterday, actually.

I add a scarf.

Is the furnace working?

The landscape is crunchy, the cold is flash-freezing the grass, the leaves, my breath.

I wait for the predicted ice.

It is slippery now, icy conditions make everything difficult. It is all downhill from here. I can’t get my footing and I worry that if I fall I will break.

The fire doesn’t warm me.

A hot shower leaves me chilled to the bone.

The chill is in my heart, my arteries carry ice so that all of me is numb, even to warmth.

Will I ever be warm again?

How long will the storm last?

I am so cold.

Rays of sun peek between the lowered blinds. I shut them to keep the cold out but now I realize they are keeping the cold in.

I open the blinds. Nothing escapes the sun – water drips and pools and gives life to the frozen ground. The glare of the sun is painful but I find myself drawn to it still. I am desperate for warmth.

I step outside to sit in the sun. To thaw.

The sun is persistent. My fingertips begin to tingle with warmth.

I give permission to the sun – I will not turn away.

Melt the icebox within.

I feel less rigid, less fragile.

The sun will find spring, coax it out of the ice – tell flowers to bloom, trees to bud, the birds to sing, the heart to beat again.

Let go.

Spring will come again.