Oh they paved Paradise, and put up a parking lot ...

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?