I have been awake for more hours than I care to count. My body is
fatigued and beaten, all to a purpose, but exhausted nonetheless. I
trudge out the door, numb and exhausted. This is the kind of tired that
disorients you and makes anything more than reptilian functions
unbearable.
As I step out into the night air a powdery sprinkle
hits my face – cold, but not quite wet … The light catches the icy
flurries and mocks the fireflies of summer with its sparks of blue-white
chill. Winter, like Death, is a great equalizer and it manages to
cleanse even this concrete terrarium of its sins. The sugary coating
giving the hard edges just a few minutes of serenity before it is cast
aside. Like the scullery maid trying on a glass slipper and tossing it
aside, being too fine for her taste.
My thoughts of the day drone
in my head in a frenetic tumble, exhaustion making them slide together
and tangle into knots of “should, must, have to,” choking the coherence
out of me. But if I can make to the car, then I can make it home. If I
can make it home, then I can make it to my family.
If I can make it to my family … well then I can finally rest.
The
snow sprinkles down on me in a wispy tumble. My pace picks up – not
because I’m cold or wet or unhappy but because the brisk air pulls the
stale breath from my body. It takes with it the weight of arguments
lost, frustrations bellowing and fears manifested.
In its place
is the night air, there is little so clean as the smell of snow. The
promise of that temporary peace, rest, that unique mantle of quiet pulls
itself over me. As I stand there my thoughts unravel, slowly, like a
child undoing a snarled fishing line.
Each breath – in – out –
slowly now – in – out – pull gently, take your time – in – out – don’t
rush – in – out – it’s just a knot, you can undo it – in – out – all
will be well, just focus and breathe.
The capricious crystals
pepper my eyelids. A whisper of icy cold against my face and in a
heartbeat it’s gone, the fragile touch snuffed out by the heat of my
skin. I take another breath and as I let it out a small breeze swirls,
the night exhaling with me and not caring if I even notice.
I can feel the cold now; it urges me back into motion – towards warmth, towards home.
And
so, on Brigit’s Night, in the most unlikely of places I am reminded of a
very basic truth. That Life, like the snow, like the night – is
heartrendingly beautiful and gloriously unconcerned with you, for it
will continue whether you will it otherwise or not. So appreciate it,
but do not worry about what it will or will not do, for you cannot
change it. Stand too long and the beauty fades, leaving you cold,
leaving you dark. To Live is to move inexorably forward – like the
seasons, like the night into day. That it is the cold that brings you
warmth, if you let it.
That was my walk across the parking lot. How was yours?
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