It is zero degrees and there is zero reason to do anything. I woke to the joy of fresh snow; a heavy blanket of cold crystal dust.
For the first time in a long while, I have no place to be; there is no place to report my time, which is my time. Forced, placid ground succumbs to the changing seasons and winter strides in unannounced. Like a Madussa, everything stops as temperatures plummet. The air is more than cold, it is a mood that lingers in a mirror dance with the sun, which is the only reprieve. Frigid temperatures remain, battling the will of the sun.
Sun filters through and brings an illusion of warmth. We have come a long way, yet so many months wait still, wrapped in the comfort of frozen time.
I do not watch much television these days and have found a reasonable balance. Doses of CNN have ceased, replaced with Aljazeera overnight. Apparently, a contract dispute has caused disruption. But it’s ok; weird, but ok. The news, the world as it is portrayed, solidly propels the human race toward certain destruction. The movie, Interstellar, reminds us of our vulnerabilities, while exploiting our capabilities to persevere. But that was an event, outside of the daily drone of a television. For me, classical music is what plums my airways.
But I am not afraid.
Instead, there is a mist that hovers over our town and the promise of an early season. The Cascades loom above, showing off their wild winter of majestic beauty. Monday is like a holiday where life slows to remember a purpose and thoughts of warm hearth stoves and soup; friends and family gather as community, laughing, and sharing.
In the morning, eyes will open as dreams of fresh tracks wane with the desire to experience gravity with the whole body.
Everything is inanimate in the calm of winter light. Not a breeze stirs, the air, while stagnant, is crisp and still. Nothing moves.
Spirit is vibrating.