It is my first winter in Connecticut and last week, we were treated to 18 inches of snow.
The vast, smooth, white fluff covered the 2 1/2 acres around our house and requested to be noticed.
So, I paused to notice her.
She called me to listen to her, to open my front door, even if snow was all the way up to it, to just gaze upon her and deeply inhale.
The morning after the snow was so bright and crisp.
I looked at her and inhaled.
Then I closed my eyes and let the memory of her become etched in my spirit.
Yes, it was cold, yes, I needed to put on those LandsEnd boots we bought on a whim during a house hunting expedition back in July. We didn't know how much it would be and since we had lived where it snowed before, figured we could adjust. Still, we were compelled. Glad we did.
Then, when she came, she came fully and the Nor'easter welcomed us in the way that demanded that we take notice of her existence.
She wanted us to pause and take a deep breath, to be still.
This is the winter of our discontent, in a lot of ways.
First one in the middle of a pandemic that is mutating and so many lives lost.
Yet, this gift called us to be open to the possibilities of the universe hearing our calls.
I looked upon her and thought about breathing.
How often we have thought about that over the year since March.
Covid19 affects the ability to breathe, air being next to water for the importance of life.
I am a life long severe acute asthmatic, so lung function and oxygen levels have been a part of my existence for as long as I have known my existence.
I've masked, double masked, masked and Face Shielded when needed, and stayed away.
Missed being in space, breathing in the essence of my extended family, adult sons, and sorority sisters. Missed the presence of writers and artists creating at my favorite coffee shop.
The stale muted aroma in bookstores, totally missed.
Missed and longing
That is something the view in my backyard invited me to consider as I looked out over the forest preserve.
Consider what could be possible when we are all open to being able to deeply breathe again, without reservation or discrimination
What could be possible if we paused, stood in silence, and looked at the snow to wonder.
It is the day before the day before.
It is the day after the day after Winter Solstice gifted us with the Bethlehem star.
There is still a there, there, an imagination, a playfulness waiting for us.
In the final moments of this year, as we quiet down, gather only with those in our home and reconsider what it means to celebrate holiday, we have a big box to unwrap, a box of dreams.
That is what we are invited to etch in our memories.
Breathe it in, deeply.
And be still.