Winter is deep
Bone deep the chill of wind through wool, fleece, flesh, muscle, and deep into marrow. The cold that slaps you in the face while drawing out your breathe making you gasp. Deep, too the snow ankle shuffling deep, mid calf trench deep, slide tires in the track deep. Yet the deep of snow is comforting, beautiful; a wonder each glance. The chill holds not such beauty, nor any beauty just intensity to be remembered.
I am winding down a day of tasks ticked off the mental list. Work tasks, home tending tasks, project tasks, family tasks. Now I pause for a moment to write, reflect and pontificate a bit.
My fellow is off work, for the air is dangerous cold, 'be warned don't go out' cold. Day 2 of offness, aside from the already off for holidays. He is stressing over not bringing in money, over not working. I cannot grasp his hysteria, no hysteria is too loud a word. He is quiet - ominous in his disgruntle with the situation. He retreats deep into himself. Deep of no talking, barely looking. Deep of silence and furrowed brow. Deep of energy emanating off him like invisible waves rippling out, rippling over deep thought, deep worry, deep desire to work.
I am more of the 'yay, snow day' mentality, like a child granted an unexpected and unusual boon. A burst of freedom, of possibility. I cannot hand him my perspective as if handing him a sled to race down the hill on. Nor can I lift up his perspective, like the burden it appears to be. Each of us must stand separate and experience the day in our own way. My lightness lifts not him up. Nor may I allow his heaviness to pull me down. Space to move up, down or remain stationary and silent in the deep winter is what we share instead.
I am winding down a day of tasks ticked off the mental list. Work tasks, home tending tasks, project tasks, family tasks. Now I pause for a moment to write, reflect and pontificate a bit.
My fellow is off work, for the air is dangerous cold, 'be warned don't go out' cold. Day 2 of offness, aside from the already off for holidays. He is stressing over not bringing in money, over not working. I cannot grasp his hysteria, no hysteria is too loud a word. He is quiet - ominous in his disgruntle with the situation. He retreats deep into himself. Deep of no talking, barely looking. Deep of silence and furrowed brow. Deep of energy emanating off him like invisible waves rippling out, rippling over deep thought, deep worry, deep desire to work.
I am more of the 'yay, snow day' mentality, like a child granted an unexpected and unusual boon. A burst of freedom, of possibility. I cannot hand him my perspective as if handing him a sled to race down the hill on. Nor can I lift up his perspective, like the burden it appears to be. Each of us must stand separate and experience the day in our own way. My lightness lifts not him up. Nor may I allow his heaviness to pull me down. Space to move up, down or remain stationary and silent in the deep winter is what we share instead.
Comments
Post a Comment