The Winter Is Over.

Today I prophesied to howling winds and tiny budding flowers. 

“The winter is over"

I wandered through a village I know nothing about, peered into windows decorated with tiny German trinkets. I felt the wind stab through the holes of my sweater and I wished I had put on my coat.

And that’s just how it feels lately. I continue to put on a sweater in hope, rather than putting on my coat and embracing reality. 

I drag my chair outside to sit in a single ray of sunshine as it moves far too quickly through the trees- just for a moment. I just want one moment of sun on my skin to remind me that this winter will not last forever. 

This winter feels eternal. 

It feels like the chilling drops of spitting rain have been annoying my bumpy cheeks day after day after day after day after… 

Every morning I wake up and turn over, feeling sharp cold sweep under my blankets, begging me to start another day. It’s all I can do to put my feet on the floor. To layer sweaters and start a fire in the way-too-small wood stove that heats the sacred space our sitting room has become. 

Turn on the kettle before you go to the bathroom. Take out the trash while you still have your scarf and shoes on. Turn on the heater a few minutes before your shower. Get two logs instead of one while you’re outside.

Changes to life to accompany the winter. Adapting to sink into the cold… and fiercely wishing it would just leave. 

Pieces of myself I’ve continued to offer up over and over like these winter days that pass.

Rhythmically. Slowly. Painfully.

Choosing to be grounded in what’s present as we simultaneously surrender to what’s coming- and spring is coming. 

——

Today I prophesied to dark clouds that continue to loom far too close to our heads 

and sleepy cottages. My wandering quickened to running.

“Come alive. Dry bones, wake up”

I roared from a hilltop overlooking this village I know nothing about. And I screamed at my own heart,

“Wake up!!!!”

I paced back and forth. I howled from the deepest part of myself I could find. These howls were snatched away by those of the wind.

I doubt anyone even heard these screams that took all the strength I had.

And still I sense breakthrough, new beginnings. The winter is over. 

How do I believe for what’s coming before I see it? Before I feel it in the slightest? How do I contend for spring in my soul, in my heart, in the community that slumps past me with scarves wrapped so tightly I can only see sad eyes? 

New Beginnings.

And as I anticipate them I realise these beginnings are not painless either. There is a tension in the buds before they open, in the atmosphere as the temperature changes, in the animals as they stare at each other, waiting for the sun to warm their faces as well. 

There is a discomfort in the waiting for what’s to come and in the changing when it finally does. 

Hope hurts. To choose to believe for warmth when we only feel sharp cold in our lungs and heavy aches in our hearts that seem like they’ll never subside.

Our hope is not in vain. 

He’s removing the pressure. To measure up to something. To be a version of myself I wish I was, or one that I thought someone else wanted me to be. To make things bloom before their time. 

Spring wears its own watch. I cannot will these buds to open. I cannot shriek loud enough at the clouds to make them leave. I can only wait and be faithful to presentness with myself and the people around me. 

And the cold. And the clouds. And the pain that interrupts daily life. 

Spring will come. And I will roar until I see it. 

——