Winter has officially shown his smiling face in Boone. With 35 mph winds, 2-3 inches of now, rapidly dropping to temperatures, and rumors of traffic die to broken water mains and accidents I decided it best to walk home from work. I have a rear-wheel mid-size pick-up with bad traction. Had it been open roads I might have attempted the feet, but I did not trust other drivers and I did not trust my reaction to other drivers.
Bundled up as well as I can be for the unexpected I cut through the gusty winds, plow past the snow bomb-barring my face, encounter of a snowball propelled from an on-coming car, and trying to ignore the wind chill factor as best I can trekking an hour to get home. Then I get to the main street where it is relatively quiet. The street has been blocked off from vehicles allowing only sidewalk plows to clear the streets of snow and the few bold pedestrians racing home.
The movement of the street intrigues me. Christmas snow-flake lights hanging suddenly become one with the falling snow clothing the streets and buildings. The people hastily seeking the closest warmth, the plower on a mission to remove the snow speedily and effective out oxygen as a vessel motivated by sight. The world is white glowing by yellow flames towering the sidewalks. Beyond the roads are the black shapes of mountains doused by the blinking houses outlining the ridges.
The further I move from the city lights the more silence intensifies. I can hear snow falling. I can hear the snow landing. The silence penetrates my ears. The few street lights unaccounted are my escort home as I float with ease to my last remaining steps. The glistening snow of an untracked path is my gateway to home. Oh! Wonderful sweet warm home. She embraces me and I enjoy her comfort.
I can now officially grumble as an old person stating, "When I was your age I walked two/three miles through snow to and from work." As cold as the experience is there is something invigorating about the -1F wind chill taking your breath away as air is not necessary for life.
Though I rarely find myself comfortably warm. I feel myself entranced my the coldness. I allow the discomfort because I want to acknowledge my weakness. I want to seek to be strong. I want to prove I can do it.
I realize my decisions made will by my downfall. I can no longer avoid what I have done. I can wrestle with the truth, but ultimately the truth is binding. The cold truth has sneaked into my home, into my room. It stares me down informing me he knows. About the winter air nothing is hidden. The chill will expose the most sacred of secrets. The secrets of love. The secrets of loss. Secrets of denied heart. Secrets of a virtue's end. Secrets of lovers.
The weight of the cold presses upon me. I am feeling suffocated as warmth moves closer and closer. I do not say "yes," but "no" is not uttered either. I am surrounded by heat. It is my passions that keep me comfortable amongst the chilliest of nights. It is the coldest nights that bury my secrets deep below.
My uncomfortable agony has passed on as I look out the window watching lights move away. Chillness has returned to my room as its weight is upon my mind. Things seem complicated during the cold nights. However, there are other nights when I am filled with the pleasure of warmth.
As the night keeps passing the clouds have rolled on leaving the moon to reveal nature's glory. In darkness there is light, bright white silk in blue. Reflection upon refection illuminating the earth's surface. As the snow has stopped and the wind has calmed where peace is radiant. Stars cannot compete with the moon's glow. Something amazing needs to happen. Instead, I make a phone call among my secrets then I fall asleep to the sensation of cold.
The following morning is a different scenario from the previous day. As I make my way walking to work the town seems to have reawaken. Vehicles are free to drive the streets. People are feeding off the sunshine to keep their cold bodies moving. The sun is so bright that water, snow, ice strike with blinding glare. Snow blankets the ground proving winter wonderlands do exist.
I march briskly for there is still a mighty wind chill. I think of previous nights and how my opinions and thoughts are changing. I think of winter's arrival and my new coarse. I think of how it would be nice to have my cold numb face embraced. I think of my mistakes and my decisions to be made. I think of love moving along with hurt. I think of all the foolishness occurring on cold winter evenings.
No comments:
Post a Comment