Hmmm, has the January deep freeze, without a pure white mantle of snow, buried the wonders of nature beyond recognition?
Looking out my apartment window just now, I behold an endless pastel blue sky with only a thin wafer of grayish cloud hanging on the skyline. The late afternoon sun, falling at just the right mathematical angle, is rebounding off the windows of the adjacent building like a pair of flaming orbs.
I can convince myself for a wistful moment that it is mid-April and spring is unfolding in its youthful abundance. All of nature is awakening and answering the call to renewed life.
But, alas, the smoke billowing from the rooftop vents is coiling and curling petulantly in the biting winter air. I look down to see the threadbare trees standing naked in their January slumber. A few withered leaves and pine cones dangle from their lifeless limbs – haunting reminders of the autumn that is long past.
The ice cap on the pond is no longer just a delicate skin. It has become glassy and resolute – glaring in the sun inviting the flash of skates if I were so inclined. No hand-in-hand couples are to be found strolling the pathway that winds around it.
There is no snow on the ground yet to soften winter’s edge – though it will doubtless come soon enough. Muted shades of brown, gray and fading green greet the eye. The sun begins to fail by 5:00, extinguished all too abruptly and expiring with little resistance.
There are no children dashing about in the park. No squeals of delight or peals of laughter. No soccer balls daisy-cutting over the grass and through the gardens. The bicycles, skateboards and scooters are packed away for winter’s keeping.
The joy and merriment of Christmas is past. New Year’s celebrations are behind us. We are in winter lockdown. Retreating behind our locked doors and double-paned windows. Hunkering down to wait out the season.
It is the January deep freeze from which there seems to be no release. And yet, as I stand at the window and chronicle the woes of the season, I behold a reprieve.
Frost has formed on the corner of the window. It is an art form with its own intrinsic beauty. Intricate swirls, extravagant flourishes and subtle brush strokes from a hidden hand of wondrous artistry. Crystal patterns, no two quite alike, glitter and sparkle in the last of the day’s sunlight.
I begrudgingly admire this delicate expression of the softer side of winter. It is a metaphor for the beauty that abides in nature even in the icy fingers of January. I can’t help longing for the return of spring. But winter does have its moments.
~ Michael Robert Dyet is the author of “Until the Deep Water Stills – An Internet-enhanced Novel” – double winner in the Reader Views Literary Awards 2009. Visit Michael’s website at www.mdyetmetaphor.comor the novel online companion at www.mdyetmetaphor.com/blog.
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Tags: deep freeze · frost · January · metaphor · Michael Robert Dyet · winterNo Comments