Today marks the fourth snow day of the semester.
It’s been cold here, recently, as winters often are; but this winter, unlike the last, has brought us snowflake upon snowflake. Flying ever so radically through the air, falling ever softly to the ground, they cease only with the promise of a quiet return. This white stuff has swallowed the earth underneath it and continued on, collecting in piles and heaps and mountains over the tired soil. We hear machines working into the night, clearing the paths we’ll later walk; they are aware, surely, of the impermanence of their relief. We are tired too, we dream not only of summer but of a world in which the grass is discernible, the skies blue. It exists, a few states, a few hours away, but we stay as we are; moving in circles abreast the ice, sketching trails onto the floors of rooms sheltered from the elements. We wait. We count our breaths, suspended in this clumsy replica of a bear’s hibernation.
And I, I have been taking this time to rest. Don’t we all need a little more respite in the winter? I’ve been listening to Bon Iver and reading articles on the internet, studying long texts in Spanish and making use of my French Press. I’ve been watering my air plants and wearing cardigans. I’ve been spending more time under the covers than not. I’ve been doing my best to appreciate this season, these bitter, unforgiving, dazzling, awakening months; I’ve been treasuring the warmth and trying to treasure the cold just as much.
Here’s to the quiet of this chill. May we take it for what it is, and let it remind us, always, of who we are.