White waves roll across the field, and cyclones swirl from the surface. The feeder’s are a’flurry, and the windows thunk more often as the birds bounce off them. Everyone’s talking about the weather. Janice Dean of Fox News says she’s never seen anything like it in all her years as a meteorologist.
But I remember when we’d climb the shoveled- and wind-created hill with our sleds and slide down from the roof of the motel. I’ve heard stories about my dad heading out in snowshoes to clear the weight from neighbors’ roofs, about delivering supplies from a toboggan, about plugging in our cars. I don’t think we knew anything about wind chills.
Things sure have changed over the years when we took each day as it came.
I fumble with the front door and pan the landscape with my iPhone. The wind wraps the porch like a hurricane, and I lean into it to keep my balance. Goldfinch wings whir frigid air more sharp. I stay out there only seconds.
My husband manages to blow a path for the pups in the back yard, but clearing the driveway is hopeless. We’re officially snowed in. Drifts mound against the garage and fence, and the bush in front forms an igloo. And I’m remembering the time several girls came home with me for the weekend and how a storm hit and how we couldn’t make it back to nursing school for Monday’s classes.
Dennis scoops black oil seed and notes the birdbath has frozen in spite of the heater. He brings it in to defrost. Later he’ll fill it with fresh water and dump hot ashes from the wood stove, but mostly we’ll hunker inside with computers and books and the Weather Channel. We still have reception, though the neighbor’s satellite dish is buried.
The mounds and peaks of white remind me of meringue piled on my lemon pies. They’re waves frozen, and if we have to have winter, we might as well have adventure. I can’t see across the field right now, and I’m thinking about the power of the wind and how it parted the waters and how the Israelites moved out into a sea of change and how they had to choose whether to go forward through a mist of the unknown or return to a life of the known.
And the wind blows where it wills, and nobody knows for sure where it comes from or where it’s going, but sometimes we just have to follow it. God whispers in the wind, and can dead bodies live without the breath of life? I think on these things while I nibble a sourdough muffin topped with Leslie’s wild rose petal jam and sip Asian white jasmine tea.
I sense a new breeze blowing in this new year, and I lean into it. I breathe deep, and I think I hear dry bones rattle.
Note: You might enjoy this article about Janice Dean and the hope she’s found in spite of changes the diagnosis of multiple sclerosis has brought to her life. And here’s the link to her blog post where she shared the news.
Are you leaning into any winds of change as you face this new year?
Contemplating transitions with The High Calling
and linking with Laura’s Playdates
and the storytellers at Jennifer’s
and with Holley