The Flakes, the Gray, The Promise

It is snowing this morning – an effortless, windless descent refreshing the crusted remains of last week’s storm.  It’s mild for this time of year – low 30’s – but the forecast cautions that this will be the high of the day.  By sunset we will be back below zero, replicating the pendulum pattern that has characterized this winter –

- Back and forth –

- bitter cold juxtaposing thawing mild.

But it is winter, and we expect such things.  

Three cardinals ornament the tree outside our window – swollen red counterparts to the shriveled red berries left over from autumn.  Undeterred by the morning flurries, they greet each other and the dawning day.  On the opposite side of the tree remains the nest that has miraculously survived not only snowy blasts, but derecho winds.  I haven’t given it closer inspection, not wanting to disturb or deter future occupants should they want to take up residence there for a season.  But I am curious about its general construction, and the nature of its adhesion.  What natural glue or binding could withstand 70-80 mph winds?  But there it remains, durably and securely ready.  Poignantly available.

 

The chickens, too, seem adjusted to the season.  No doubt the added minutes of daylight since the solstice advantage them to productive effect, but whatever the explanation I’m finding eggs again after a fallow season of several weeks.  To be sure, they had better things to do with their protein – refurbishing feathers, replenishing spent stores, remembering how to keep warm – but I’m grateful for the fruitful resumption.  And while it might be an overstatement to claim that they bound down the ramp as soon as it is lowered, after a few deep breaths and a ruffling of feathers, they do in fact descend and emerge to see what they can see – and consume.  Dwayne, the rooster, emerges with his usual announcement, before shortly thereafter bolstering it into a warning to the hens about the overflying eagle.  They retreat back inside, this time not for warmth or food but out of an abundance of caution – preferring not to become someone else’s food if they can prevent it.  

 

The winter day is commencing – sunless on this side of the gray; snowy, with the frosty confirmation that this inclement season is yet with us for weeks – and months – to come.  And yet…

 

…and yet there are buds on the branches foretelling promise and change.  Swollen nodes dotting the extremities of the trees, hinting at leaf and blossom and fruit.  

 

I shiver with a giddy gratitude and open my face to the flakes, taking in what I’m promised will not last forever.