A Farewell to Winter
Thursday, 30 March 2017
It must have been a long winter.
I realized the other day, sun warm on my face and breeze whispering of change, that I felt genuinely surprised at the thought of Spring creeping in. It actually caught me off-guard that it will eventually arrive...just like literally every single year before this one. I shook my head and marvelled at both my surprise (because Winter had me under its very long, very cold spell this time, apparently) and at the simple, reliable miracle of the seasons changing.
I made an effort to settle deep into the dark and cold months this year. I was reminded by people wiser than me that the seasons have purpose in their rhythm...that they help us slow down, rev up, dig in, and then rest again. I felt the wisdom in her phrase, "Winter is for stories."
So I tried to let our busy-ness melt away as we cozied up around books and fires in our fireplace, calmed our schedule so hunkering and huddling could happen at will. We had dance parties and movie nights to warm up the walls of the house that kept out the cold. We made snow suits and toques so casually and temptingly available that kids couldn't resist their daily morning tumble through the powdery snow. Even on the crispy-cold days, the days that freeze your snot at first sniff, they needed to check their frozen puddles to see how the ice had changed overnight. I let more meats and creamy things feel at home in our dinners, made bread, and soothed any pouty feelings about the frigid temperatures with human stories on the pages of books and in the hum of audiobooks and podcasts.
I bought spinach the past couple weeks on grocery trips, intentionally and with great meaning and flourish. And strawberries. Because spinach and strawberries and asparagus mean Spring. I mean, I bought spinach in the dead of winter sometimes, too, but it wasn't the same. I'm eating SPRING spinach now. And it tastes like life. Like new grass (literally...) and baby animals and newness. Never mind, actually. Even metaphorically, spinach should never taste like baby animals. Even SPRING spinach. Ahem, moving on.
So I'm ready, is what I mean. Winter might not be prepared to fade out quite yet because it's Canada after all...but we are in a good place, he and I, and I'm ready for a surprisingly fond farewell.
Until the squash and kale feel new again, Winter; I say good-bye.
(This is your cue to leave, now. XOXO)