"A hell of a night for a walk," the man I meet on the sidewalk says. It is dark and cold and we are both covered in so many layers of clothing that we would not know each other, even if we had met before, which we probably have. Both of us are walking fast, fast enough to make our own heat. The stars are crisp and the snow is, too. When winter like this sets in, I measure the temperature by the kind of squeak beneath my feet. It is very squeaky tonight. The closest I can come to taking a picture of cold like this, is the frost on my front windows. Still, I am walking each night, just me and the man who thinks it is hellish. Which it could be, were it not for the infinite sky - Orion striding southward, the moon a waning crescent, the crunch of my feet carrying me quickly through all this darkness. As I walk, a children's poem by Oliver Herford, sings in my head and I speak it out loud, the words muffled by my scarf:
I heard a bird sing
in the dark of December,
a magical thing
and sweet to remember.
We are nearer to spring
than we were in September,
I heard a bird sing
in the dark of December.
Later, in the night, sleeping, I dream of that bird - a shadow of a bird, really, perched on the bare branches of one of the trees I walk beneath each night. It is cold, but he is singing and I am walking. I cannot hear his song, my ears are covered, but his beak is open, cloudy puffs of song float from it, and I know he is singing, "WE ARE NEARER TO SPRING THAN WE WERE IN SEPTEMBER. . . "
Do you mean 40° celsius below zero?
ReplyDeleteIf it is so, I would already have died if I lived at your place!
Here in France, it's been freezing since last Monday but for the moment the temperature only reached -6° celsius.
That's already a lot for me because I was born in Portugal by the seaside in a place where the temperature rarely goes below zero.
I'm longing for the spring to come and your last sentence is like a ray of hope.
Thank you.
I have goose bumps but not from the cold. Your post is so inspiring it warms the soul despite the temperatures. There is something refreshing in the crisp cold of night. The stars hum brighter, the moon speaks softly and the birds sing their silent songs.... 'Tis the Blessed Beauty of the Season I think... It's magical somehow. .... It's what dreams are made of. Thank you for sharing your walk and dream.... I am energized by it! May the Love and Joy of the Season fill your hearts now and always. Love and Light, Nina P
ReplyDeleteI do appreciate your photo and poem. Thanks for sharing. A French follower.
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