Like the storied weight of a hand-made quilt patched with scraps of worn clothes, a gray winter sky cocoons us in warm dreams of spring nestled by winter. Unleaved branches scratch the sunless sky – back and forth in the winds – searching for blue.

A thick blanket of winter sky invites us to stay close to home. To not wander out – should the rain return or the wind come again from the north. Only the near-empty milk carton is reason to drive into town. Jacketted and hatted against the cold, I open the truck door and feel the sun for the first time in months. Magnified by the arching windshield, the cab is sun-drenched. Not the dry empty, directed blow of the heater. No – this heat is thick, heavy, and enveloping. A sun-warmed cab on a late winter drive into town – spring is coming.

The quiet of boredom, the morning gray, the emptiness of days without plans – all are signs the carnival of summer is being pulled closer by spring. Late winter carves out empty hallows – spaces where time skips a beat for us.

The end of winter is filled with promises. We wake to the slant of early morning rays that heat the panes of our bedroom windows. Afternoon sun melts snowy ground, revealing islands of green. Sunlight stretches into the evening – offering sunset invitations for long walks ended by standing and watching as the sky colors itself. Random spring-like days send us digging into our bureau for a pair of shorts. Our attention shifts from memories of summer last to plans for summer next.

The end of winter has a heaviness that pulls us to the ground, sinks us deeper into our chairs, settles us more comfortably in our beds. Nothing calls us to action. We stop looking to busy ourselves. We feel the quiet everywhere. For a moment we join in the great hibernation – absorbing the still gift of a melting winter.

Peace,
Chris