Winter has a way of cutting me open. It slices through the layers of coats I try to put between us right to my bones.
The sun sets at 4:30, temperatures plummet, and there are an awful lot of grey, drizzly days.
This winter hasn’t been nearly as bad as last winter, but it’s been winter all the same. This time, I knew what to expect from a real winter. I was able to brace myself for it. And we’ve had a good number of clear, sunny days, and even a little bit of snow.
The cold didn’t suck all the breath out of me this time around . . . just some of it.
Winter in Nashville lasts for months. I’m used to maybe a few weeks that are truly cold, but when it lasts this long, I start to wonder if it’s going to end at all. Will the sun ever come back out and stay a while? Will the flowers start to bloom again? Will my bones ever warm from the cold that has seeped into them?
Some days are hard and grey and cold. But some days, I catch a glimmer of hope. I start to see the end of the shadow.
I was doing the only thing my introverted self knew to do. It’d been a busy week, so I roasted some cauliflower, did some laundry, and watched five episodes of Parenthood. At 5:45, I lugged my laundry outside. As I walked down the stairs to the laundry room, I noticed the sky. It hadn’t surrendered itself to inky blackness yet. There was still a sliver of light over to of the mountains to the West.
The day was holding on a little longer.
Winter would not last forever.
Yeah, sure, Punxsutawney Phil saw his shadow last week. We’re supposed to be in for six more weeks of winter. And I don’t know . . . Maybe we are. But even so, I’ve seen the edge of the darkness. It’s starting to lift. Spring is coming. It’s just around the corner. There will be new life, just like there is year after year after year.