I like these cold, gray winter days. Days like these let you savor a bad mood. ~Bill Wattersonfrom “Calvin and Hobbes”
The wind is keen coming over the ice; it carries the sound of breaking glass. And the sun, bright but not warm, has gone behind the hill. Chill, or the fear of chill, sends me hurrying home. ~Jane Kenyon from “Walking Alone in Late Winter”
Roused by faint glow at midnight peering between slats of window blinds closed tight to a chill wind-
Bedroom becomes suffused in ethereal light from a moonless sky~ a million stars fall silent as
Snow light covers all, settling gently while tucking the downy corners of the snowflake comforter
of heaven, plumping the pillows, cushioning the landscape, lightening and illuminating a fearfully chilled and grumpy heart.
Now wind torments the field, turning the white surface back on itself, back and back on itself, like an animal licking a wound.
A single green sprouting thing would restore me . . .
Then think of the tall delphinium, swaying, or the bee when it comes to the tongue of the burgundy lily. ~Jane Kenyon from “February: Thinking of Flowers”
We thought we had skated past winter this time: only a few sub-freezing days since October, no northeasters, no snow.
Then February comes and the ground hog lied two days ago. Winter came in a big fell swoop yesterday with blowing snow, collapsing trees onto wires, lifting off roofs and pushing hard at old barn walls. It is still pounding us from the northeast today with windchills in the subzero digits.
A hunker down day.
How hard is it to think of summer flowers in February when all is ice and bluster and chill? I barely recall them when I’m trying to warm my frozen fingers. Yet the bulbs are poking through the ground, with some measure of hope fueling them to keep coming, and that sight alone warms me.
This wind too shall pass… at about 50 mph with gusts to 70. It would be just fine if it kept going and didn’t look back.