Winter. Cold dreary days push back the sun without respite for months on end. Life is hidden. The battles’ result is set from the beginning, but that does not stop the one who shall be conquered from fighting hard: clinging to the branches; covering wellsprings, and cool blue depths with inches of ice. Winter. Not so much seen as felt deep within the soul. Old dreary days with no release from the chills steady hold. Winter- it is my favorite season. Alas, I don’t know why. Maybe it is the battle to see who can endure the longest, or those nights of happiness in the form of sledriding. Laughing in winter’s face. It is a long season, but it makes that which lies on the other side all the brighter, and for an instant makes us treasure that which is given.
There is a winter of the soul too. Days without joy, or pain, just continual rebellion against the bitter cold that tries to steal, and pillage our hearts. There are long days, and longer nights filled with little but the battle for life. Physical life doesn’t mean much when the spirit is dead (or at least appears dead, all symbols of life tucked away like the jagged trees), but it means there is hope. There is a chance for a better tomorrow. Hope…if there were a theme for this season of my life that would be it. Clinging to hope in glimmers and snippets;
Today there is an indian summer. The weatherman said that it could get up to sixty degrees; the snow has melted off to mud. There is a smell of new life in the air. Today I found a dandelion- a tidbit of hope stubbornly fighting its way through the chaos. A dandelion in January. There are indian summers in the soul’s winter too. Days where the end is in sight, and inklings of the hope of rebirth (messy, but welcomed after the endless torment) appear. Here’s to surviving the long days yet to come, and one day walking into the glorious sunlight which we will never experience in full until the New Kingdom. Here’s to clinging to hope with white knuckled fists during the long nights, and rejoicing in the joy that comes with the morning. We must never forget that there is hope; for the battle is already won.
*Dedicated to my dear friend Nastya as she fights her way through this season of her life.*