Blustery, insistent Old Man Winter invited his skilled elf,
Jack Frost, to paint lavish murals on our porch windows today with wide, silvery
brush strokes. As a result, Jack’s metallic-looking artistry covers every inch
of glass with stunning, decorative silverplate.
Although the lake’s crystal lid thawed several days ago, the
Old Man seems playfully, if not seriously, intent on refreezing it.
Aggressive waves have been rocking frozen chunks and cubes like rough
gems for hours, growing mini glaciers ever larger before chewing and crushing them
against the seawall with forceful, gritty sloshing and grinding.
Nuthatches, chickadees, and tufted titmice repeatedly empty
our tube of sunflower seeds in record time. A tenacious woodpecker drills ice-encrusted suet. Snow-dusted
squirrels rummage through seed spillage on the ground, their fur billowing wild
in response to gusty little twisters.
When we finally muster courage to brave the elements - the
driveway being in desperate need of shoveling - white powder crunches dry and
lifeless beneath our super-insulated moon boots.
Within a few minutes, my gloved fingers sting cold to the point of pain,
and frozen knives sear my lungs. Snow-magnified sunlight blinds me: lazars on
every side.
And yet, while squinting and stomping and blowing warm
air down the cuffs of my gloves, I’m surprised by subliminal warmth, a vibrant,
vigorous pulsing deep inside: mysterious, supernal life overriding temporal challenge.
Life. Current
reality shedding hope on eternal destiny.
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