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.
Spring will come again.