Thawing

Life is such a messy experience of absolutely ordinary perfection. 

     Tonight. I stand in the middle of the dark field outside my cabin. The ground is blanketed in the clean canvas of fresh snow. I stand, watching the dark sky. Nothing stirs but the faint shadow hands of the branches of the trees moving with the wind in the dark. 

Faintly, I can hear the quiet drip, drip, drip of ice melting off my cabin roof. 

It is still a warm night, but soon that water will freeze once again. 

Truthfully, We are all melting and freezing. All going through our own perpetual winters.

Learning the art of thawing. 

     Tonight, sitting around a crowded wooden table in a trailer on a dark street of my town; Christmas lights strung above our heads and laughter and heart, shared around the table like the humble homemade potluck supper we ate off of mismatched China plates. Always enough for everyone. 

     That's what thawing feels like to me. What it feels like to feel my heart drip, drip, drip into the icy winter waters of this life. 

Connection. Laughter. Kindness. Listening to the small things people say. The way the married couple keep their fingers linked beneath the table. Matching gold bands glinting in the light from the candle, that gutters with the arrival of yet more friends. Friends I haven't yet known and loved, but friends I look forward to learning and caring for. 

Drip, drip, drip. 

I stand outside my cabin. My feet thick in snow, looking up. My head thrown back, unable to tear my gaze away from the clear and chilly sky. The stars. Tumbled across the sky like diamonds, twinkling and sparkling and so bright. They give me chills. Wheeling above my head. Echoing the truth that we are all connected. We are all thawing and freezing and living, wildly. Here. 

And I am so grateful.