Second Winter

Yesterday I woke up to a yard covered in white.

Three weeks ago it was warm. I walked in the sunshine in a tank top.

When March comes in like a lion, it goes out like a lamb…..and when it comes in like a lamb, it goes out like a lion. I should have expected the snow.

At times the snowflakes still falling were almost invisible; just a movement now and then to let you know, yes, it’s still snowing. Other times, a gust of wind would blow a veil across the yard, like a murmuration of starlings all swooping, soaring, turning together. Or a sifter full of flour that I’ve given an extra-hard shake: wham, there goes the flour in one big poof, and then all is calm, waiting for the next big shake.

Today, we woke up to a world encrusted in ice.

The ground crunched under my feet, and the world was a new shade of white. Instead of powdery white dusting everything, outlining branches and covering roofs, saying, “Rest. Here, let me tuck you in,” this white sparkled. It caught sunlight and threw it back to the world saying, “Isn’t this fun?! Let’s play! See if you can keep up!”

The ice storm caused power outages, caused people–us, organizers of events, strangers–to change their plans, be flexible, not take their schedule so seriously.

The ice storm called us to come outside, look at the view. And we did. We crunched and slid, and let our eyes be dazzled by the brilliance of the world.

And then the world began to warm up. The ice is gone from trees, telephone poles, eaves of buildings, the bumper of our car. There’s less snow, too. We can see the tips of grass blades peeking out, letting us know they’re still here, they’re still planning to make the yard their own.

Spring will come again. March is going out like a lion, but it’s going out just the same. Soon enough I’ll be in tank tops every day, appreciating a very different kind of beauty in the world.