Winter morning light won’t even try to lure you from your pillow

The light filtering in the windows this morning is soaking wet and black. Winter is pouting because spring is grinding her hips against him, pushing him through the crowd toward the bus door, anticipating his descent on the next stop. I love spring for her general explosive impatience, and how she demurs like a cat when the air starts to feel thawed and tosses us a biting frost to remind us she’s in charge. This sad winter light met my eyes this morning with his bottom lip pushed out, tears sluicing down his tired face.

But it’s all right, winter.  Rest. He’s been at it for months now, and this year was really quite spectacular. His snow was generous, and always made sure to sparkle brilliantly before succumbing to the grit of salt and plows. There’s no need to be so sad and cold today, when he really should be thinking of all the winds he’ll catch, all the noses he’ll make run while on the slow journey to the other side of the Earth. It’s the natural order of things, to take leave of a friend when the company is stale. New England and winter are les ames soeurs: they give each other little thought when parted… But pick up their chat on the last thought spoken when they merry-meet again.

So please, winter, forgive flighty spring for her impatience. Winter is so much wiser than she, stronger and more lasting– he will punish himself by lingering behind the exit, looking longingly back at the Berkshires. Let spring come and relieve the snowy pressure crushing down, let her paint her flowers across the fields and wake her animal friends with a warm breeze. Let her fill us with new life, new resolution, new reason and new motivation. Let her show us our goals reflected in ourselves, red with the flush of intellect and excitement.

But most of all, let it be light.

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One Response to “Winter morning light won’t even try to lure you from your pillow”

  1. Sophia Ward Says:

    “Rain and the Rhinoceros” by Thomas Merton

    What a thing it is to sit absolutely alone,
    in the forest, at night, cherished by this
    wonderful, unintelligible,
    perfectly innocent speech,
    the most comforting speech in the world,
    the talk that rain makes by itself all over the ridges,
    and the talk of the watercourses everywhere in the hollows!

    Nobody started it, nobody is going to stop it.
    It will talk as long as it wants, this rain.
    As long as it talks I am going to listen.

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