It snowed last night. Again. I got up this morning and looked out the window at the snow on the deck and the grey skies, just like yesterday and the day before and the day before, and it was all I could do not to crawl back into bed and not get up until April.
Can I be honest with you? I really hate this time of year.
Life is just one freezing day after another; scraping the car, navigating the icy roads, slipping and sliding on sidewalks, shoveling and plowing, watching the weather in the evening, and getting up in the morning to do it all again. Spring is just a dot in the distance, too far off to even think of.
I've been sick with Covid, too, which has added another layer of whining to my days. Sniffling and sneezing and coughing and wandering from window to window, sighing, home bound and miserable.
Now, if you've ever struggled with the winter blues, you probably know what doesn't help.
It doesn't help, for instance, to try to talk yourself out of it. Believe me, I've tried. Get over it, I say. Winter's wonderful! See that nice snow? Aren't you glad to be alive?
Nope. That doesn't help.
And it doesn't help to scold yourself for your bad mood. To try telling yourself, shame on you! You should be grateful! Count your blessings!
Great. Now I feel guilty, too.
But last night I think I finally turned the corner. I found the key.
I was just going to bed; I'd turned off the kitchen lights and was heading for the stairs, and as I walked by the wood stove, a glint of red caught my eye. The fire was nearly out, but there were a few glowing coals left, there in the chilly darkness. I creaked open the door, took the poker and gave them a stir, and they flared up with a gentle warmth, lighting the gloom. I sat for a long time, watching them gleaming quietly.
You know, in the days when all we had were fires to keep us warm, people used to 'bank' the fire every night. They'd let it die down to coals and then cover it with a layer of ashes to stay warm. Carefully, guarding the precious heat, they let the fire rest, ready for the new day.
How comforting they are - those glowing embers, waiting to be brought to life.
Sitting there in the dark, watching that glimmering light, I felt a little better. Something inside me that had been twisted tight began to loosen.
I began to think of all the homes over the thousands of years; the children curled in beds, the old folks snuffling in their sleep, all near the quiet warmth of the slumbering hearth.
My thoughts drifted to the sleeping animals, hibernating underground in their nests. They turn and sigh, their little hearts beating slowly, with a pause in between, and with every soft thump they're waiting for the spring.
Winter is the time of waiting.
There are seeds, too, waiting in the darkness. The acorns that fell into the dry leaves, the seeds that whirled away in the wind, are all lying in the soil, cupped in the hands of the earth.
Slowly, slowly, the world is tilting back toward the sun. Every day, though you can hardly see it, we are moving closer toward the spring, making our way along the path back toward the light.
Spring will come. There will be warm days and bright sunshine, and the seeds down in the darkness will slowly open and begin to find their way up to the light. The world will be green again.
Spring will come in its own good time. But my sighs and fretting won't make it come any faster.
Carefully I scooped some ashes and spread them over the coals, ready for the morning. As I headed off to bed, I thought, all right, then.
I'll wait, and keep the fire burning.
sigh....