Cold

“Take long walks in stormy weather or through deep snows in the fields and woods, if you would keep your spirits up. Deal with brute nature. Be cold and hungry and weary.” ~ Henry David Thoreau ~

The other morning, I sat at my perch inside my window as the new day danced in the bright morning sun. The sparrows and juncos flitted and frolicked in the dormant lilac bush, chasing each other from the breakfast table. Then – thud – right before me, an unsuspecting sparrow flew headlong into the window and dropped straight down. I got up and peered out and down to the disaster site. Sparrow bird had all but disappeared face-first into the soft fluff of the freshly fallen snow. Its splayed wings were half buried, and its tail feathers stuck straight up. Crash landing. As I looked, that tail feather twitched and trembled, indicating life. I shoved my thick-socked feet into a pair of crocs by the door and went out to the little guy, and with a gloved hand, I tugged it carefully from the snow. Immediately, it shook itself with a shudder and sat upright on its spindly but sturdy legs. For a while, it sat stunned close to the wall and (I imagine) waited for the stars to clear. But soon it was gone, little bird brain cleared for takeoff.

Wintertime often takes me back to my childhood days in the small, northerly community where I grew up. Snow protesting under the weight of tires or scrunching underfoot. The luster of moonlight on the lane. Rosy cheeks. Northern lights sashaying in the night skies. Warming up by the fire. We followed Thoreau’s suggestions for keeping our spirits up though we had no idea we were doing so. We spent hours skating and playing hockey, coming home with baby toes stinging and burning from the cold and then the heat as they thawed by the fire. We would snowshoe through the dense bush and then out onto the openness of the frozen, snow-covered lake. Occasionally the lake would freeze in such a way that we could skate on it, and we would head out in the evening to skate, avoiding the slush patches and hearing the CER-RACK of the ice in the cold. We “dealt with brute nature” by frolicking in it.

This winter has brought with it a fresh relishing of the elements for me. Less wind has kept the snowy blankets clean and tucked in place. I’ve needed to leave my running shoes untied for now and have exchanged them for a pair of butt-ugly, thrifted Bog boots that have kept my feet snug and warm (despite their lack of prettiness). One of our woodlots is being cleared of the dead and diseased ash trees which has created packed-down areas and tractor tire tracks that make tromping in the back forty more doable and sustainable. Timing these winterly jaunts with the sun’s descent has brought with it some spectacular vistas.

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Beauty… but also brutality. Every now and again a sparrow hawk swoops in, snagging an unsuspecting feathered prey in its talons. Even without the hawk, these ornithological lightweights are territorial and nasty to each other, always vying for a spot to feed, to survive. They seem to have no sense of other except to care for their young or to feel threatened, both characteristics of the drive for survival. Nonetheless, we like to watch and observe them (a sign of age, I’m told), noticing their habits and practices. Their simple beauty is a small delight.

However, we are not birds and need not be bird-brained. At one time or another, we will end up headfirst in a snow drift and need our travelling companions to gently pull us out by our tail feathers. When we get our bearings, let’s be grateful. Or, we will come upon a fellow sojourner who is gasping for air. Pause. Lend a hand. Lend your heart. Kindness brightens the beauty and eases the brutality. As the saying goes, “We’re all just walking each other home”.