Winter
Song
“All
winter long
behind
every thunder
guess
what we heard!
--behind
every thunder
the
song of a bird,
a
trumpeting bird.
All
winter long
beneath
every snowing
guess
what we saw!
--beneath
every snowing
a
thaw
and
a growing,
a
greening and growing...”
Native
American Song (Earth Prayers)
It
is sixteen degrees in Birmingham this morning. We hardly ever see
this kind of cold, and people here are not prepared for it with fur
coats and fur lined boots as they are in, say, Minnesota or upstate
New York. We huddle in our houses and drink hot chocolate and wait
for the thaw. Winter, however, has its boons. The earth likes to
spend a little time in the deep freeze—and we will see it's
pleasure in Spring when the bulbs begin to shoot through the ground
and bloom. People will be happy with their tulips this year. Most
winters don't get cold enough, so the second year's blooms are less
than perfect. We will reap the benefits with fewer fleas and ticks on
our critters and fewer roaches migrating through our houses.
Now
and then, I hear a high phalanx of geese honking their way
south—confused that their winter grounds are colder than normal and
seeking the sun. I wonder whether the loons are on the lake today or
taking refuge on the grassy banks. Liza hies to the backyard to do
her business and right back as fast as possible. She looks like a
small yak in her winter coat. Poor Barley has short hair and long
skinny legs that would undoubtedly freeze into sticks if she
stayed too long outside, but being a puppy she doesn't slow down long
enough to let them. She makes great laps around the back yard at light
speed, and returns to the door with her tongue hanging out.
I
will use this frigid winter day to cook—to bake lemon cookies and
banana bread and maybe spaghetti sauce with meatballs. I hope
wherever you are, you are staying warm and toasty. Give thanks for
winter, the long silent sleep of all our green and growing brothers
and sisters. It's their turn to rest.
In
the Spirit,
Jane
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