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Tuesday Morning

January 18th, 2011

It’s no secret I’m no fan of winter. I agree it’s a good time for reflection, introspection, and a recharging of the creative batteries. It’s a time for me to get caught up on a few projects around the house and try to learn some new things. But the cold, the damp and the semi-isolation get to me after a while. To combat this, I’ve filled my house with color, fun and whimsical things, cats and music. I have an entertaining group of friends on Facebook to keep me somewhat connected to the human race. I have books, and a busy imagination.

But this morning, instead of sleeping in as I usually do when I can, I woke up early. Outside was a cold drizzly rain, and fog lay thick in the valley. Call me crazy, but I threw on my layers of winter clothes, grabbed my camera and went out there. Looking back over the pictures I took, I’m not sure what I had hoped to catch with the camera. It couldn’t tell the story of the  smell of rain, or its wet fingers through my hair- yes, I have a rain jacket with a hood, but it has long been hanging in the closet and probably has a mouse living in the pocket by now, so I  just grabbed my down coat from the back of the chair on my way out the door.

The ground under my boots was mostly frozen,  the top layer had begun to thaw in the rain and was soupy enough to make walking interesting. I stopped near the duck yard to open their gate, knowing they love poking around in the mud and the puddles. The rain picked up and I slipped into the old grey barn. I was in heaven. The sound of rain on the tin roof was delicious, as was the smell of the hay stored inside. Big, shaggy rolls of hay, nestled together like dozing cows. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Inside the barn, it was shadowy and still, the rain was all I could hear. The thick dust on the floor was crisscrossed with critter tracks, and I added my own as I walked to the back of the barn to look out through the woods to the valley.

Our covering of snow had dwindled till it only filled the path out to the field, as though the snow had collectively gathered and traveled down the path to empty itself into the pond, leaving a tracing of itself behind. Where my eyes led, my feet soon followed and I found myself on top of the hill overlooking the pond. A long stretch of fog hung all along the valley. It was cold, and my finger tips were pink and damp and just beginning to ache a bit. Despite the cold, and the constant icy rain falling on my head, I felt so incredibly lucky to be there at that moment. Somewhere beyond me, the busy world was chugging along, but I was caught up in this stillness, safe in this coldness. Another deep breath of chilling air, then I tucked my camera and cold fingers into my pockets and followed the path of snow back home. I knew a hot cup of tea would soon be mine, and I felt pretty content with this world.

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