Winter is the Best Time
David Budbill
Winter is the best time
to find out who you are.
Quiet, contemplation time,
away from the rushing world,
cold time, dark time, holed-up
pulled-in time and space
to see that inner landscape,
that place hidden and within.
Suddenly, life quieted this week. Finally. The weather passed. The girls returned to school. My husband, the professor, was traveling for research, and I sat at my desk to work. Inside, the house slumbered, too. No interruptions or crises or revelations or questions. No radio. No phone calls. No bundling up in all the gear to head out only to return an hour later and unwrap each layer once again. The cat curled up on the bed in the next room, sighing deeply now and again. I could hear the clock ticking, the knock of the radiator. Only my mind seemed to be grappling with a cacophony of thoughts.
Outside, the world was hushed, too, as is only possible in winter when light snows muffle all sound. As the day wore on and the temperatures rose, I could hear the occasional crow passing overhead as well as the steady dripping of water from the large icicles hanging from the eves by the front door. Several times, I was startled from the confines of my mind as a patch of compacted snow slid down the peaks of our steep roof, clicking on each dark slate tile before crashing over the edge to the ground below.
Later, I went to get the mail at the end of the drive and the stream had come to life. The foot of snow was melting rapidly as the precipitation had turned to rain. Drops gathered into rivulets that met in gullies and streams and creeks, all heeding gravity's call to head down the heights, down the gorges, down into the lake below. The commotion was startling, exciting, joyful. Even when the world seems to be frozen and immobile, even uncaring and unfeeling, nature can spring to life for a day with just the smallest of hopes reawakened before temperatures fall below freezing again.
Quiet returns. Still, my thoughts flow and the words come together to convey my truths. Gratitude knows no season, never changes its message nor begs to be heard, yet remains in the stillness.
