Another morning, another cold. This is a new kind of cold, not that I haven't felt four degrees before, but it's new for this year. How soon we forget the bitterness, whether its from a past relationship or from a kind of food, or, in this case, from the natural world. It's a blinding kind of cold that stings you into existence and then makes you wish you weren't alive to know the sting. It's the kind of cold that cuts through your gloves and leaves for fingertips with a numbness that will return the sting and then the ache if you warm them to quickly.
This is the morning I choose to sit in my backyard. The is reflecting painfully of the fresh powder from the recent snow fall and the winds from last night have hidden all traces of life. They've even swept away my dog's foot prints. I notice the way the snow has drifted by our bank and it reminds me of the wispy dunes when my parents took us out west to White Sands. It reminds me of that until the wind shifts throwing grains of snow about like an hourglass, grains blowing every which way. The house behind me groans and the dampness in my nose freezes and cracks, then freezes again.
It's a deceptive morning. Were I not sitting out in my backyard, waiting for the living world to wake up or at least make its appearance, I might think that it was a beautiful day. It's not a day for playing outside or skiing. It's not a day for running errands or doing anything productive. It's a day to build a fire or at least turn one on and be entertained, whether that's with a good book, a new movie, or even taking a nap. If it were warmer, with the sun shining like it is, I'd stay out here longer. I'd make real plans, but my fingers ache from the cold and my breath is freezing in the scarf that covers my mouth. I have plenty of nothing left to accomplish today.
I can relate to that kind of cold for the first time in my life. For me, the weather is currently negative four degrees. I made the mistake of stepping outside to walk my dogs without covering my ears earlier. The walk was supposed to be short, but it got cut even shorter, since my ears were throbbing painfully. I've never breathed in air so cold, it burns my nostrils. It is hard to remain outdoors; on my nature hike, after half an hour, my fingers, which were in gloves, felt raw. I wonder when the weather starts warming how soon I too will forget the sharp sting of this freezing winter. Then, when my second Syracuse winter rolls around, the temperatures will again freeze my senses.
ReplyDeletePerhaps I tend to cling too long to that which is gone, but I find bitterness one that's hard to forget, in its many forms. Or perhaps it's simply the writer's memory. That's one thing I most object to about winter: the deception. Brilliant light that tricks one into believing in warmth.
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