The winter is always colder then I expect. I always find myself longing for the biting cold and solitude of the winter's heart but I forget about the time. The first few weeks of cold satisfy my hunger for the cold. The air biting at the skin invigorates and lets me know that I'm alive. The animals retreat into there winter homes and the forest becomes silent. It is simply the trees and myself and my thoughts. There is nothing to stop the mind from wondering where it wants. The best by far is the first snow; thick and heave it falls to the ground humbling the world around. The world becomes silent in the awe of this beautiful white cold that falls from the heavens.
But the joy and peace of early winter slowly transforms. The cold that once playfully nipped at the skin seeps deeper into the body and the bones themselves begin to feel cold and brittle. The mind drifts from awe and wonder to hate for the cold and a deep longing for the heat of the summer sun on back of the neck while the body that had been trapped by the snow once again works the earth. As the cold drags on the mind occupies itself with thing that are truly of no worth. The world seems to drag and the days though short and dark seem to take an eternity.
Slowly the world begins to thaw. The snow begins the melt and the creatures of the forest, long dormant, begin to emerge again. The world seems to change from dull grays and whites to greens and browns. An excitement seems to build with the expectation of the bright reds and blues and the hundreds of other colors that come with spring. However, deep down inside there is a knowledge that this is not spring. That ache in those frozen bones is still there. The mind is more easily fooled then the bones and preparation for planting are started.
Deep in the night there is a sound. Thunder? No, there is no rain and it is far to cold. Far, far to cold even in the relative warmth of the cabin the cold threatens to take the breath of life and stoking the fire does little to fend off this chill. There is that sound again closer now almost deafening. Slowly the knowledge seeps in to the mind. The tree sap started flowing and a trick of late winter has brought the harshest cold of the season. Winter never seems to pass peacefully into spring it always fights back. Another tree exploding in the distance, from betrayal of its own frozen sap, is another victim of winters desperation.
Spring will return soon, and with it the sun and the warmth and the colors. Incredible how something so longed for could turn into something so hated and feared. How lovingly the labors of the summer are looked upon in the heart of winter.
