"Earth stood hard as iron,
Water like a stone...."
In the Bleak Midwinter, Christina Rossetti
Started writing this on a warm afternoon for February -- the day before another powerfully icy, iron-hardening nature-spraying arrived in Central Virginia. Aside from choosing to postpone a couple of appointments and having some appointments postponed on me, the weather is what I expect from a February -- maybe not in Central Virginia, but of other Winters in my life.
When our area was hit last week with a similar storm, I gave myself 30 minutes of alone time to just stare out the back window and take in the whiteness, the stillness. We had had more snow with that system. It wasn't the same as Rossetti's "snow on snow on snow," but I was captivated with the glimmering highlights on the tree branches and appreciated her idyllic capture of a similar scene.
But, this week, I came back to "Earth stood hard."
Earth usually doesn't stand. It is in constant rotation, and revolution, for that matter. But, here we are: Remembering almost a year ago, when the Earth came to a place of standing hard, and nothing responded with the intent that we had once understood.
Although I have witnessed through these times glimpses of renewal, grace and deeper understanding, there remain those areas, those communications, those relationships, those patterns of life and choices which all continue to just look "hard." It's as if a pandemic ice storm encapsulated the whole of individuals, environments and states of living, fusing them into chilled casings with their beliefs, ideas, worldviews, and personalities inside.
This ice built up thick walls; clear walls for seeing out, but thick and insulating nonetheless. We can see beauty, as Rossetti did, in capturing a moment in time. But Earth doesn't stand.
Society has pondered what things will look like "when we return to normal," or words to that effect. The thaw is definitely underway, and actually has been, to a certain extent, since the initial days. We don't do standing hard, but we have reflected in other ways "hard as iron" throughout this "winter" of our discontent.
Ice melts in a time of warming, but that doesn't mean it's necessarily cozy. There are physical and chemical bond-breaking transformations. Tension and release, and change. We cycle through freeze and thaw, revealing only a part of who we are much of the time -- whatever the heat yields to a release point. Not unlike the pine boughs bending under the weight of the slush, it's, "Look out below! Contents may have shifted since encapsulation."
I studied the semi-frozen drips on a walk today, with melting temperatures fashioning longer and longer mini-icicles. Not cracked or broken, they were still thickly clinging and somewhat sinister along the limbs. I found myself with Michael Hutchence's voice in my head, singing, "Who put those tiny daggers in your heart?"
If we think we're seeing well through those icy coverings, we need to be honest. We also need to continue to gain some perspective, and that not from our own point-of-view. If we struggle with others seeing us well -- it's the same thing, friends.
Can we accept that these shape-shifting days ahead are still going to be hard? Can we extend even more grace, with the understanding that tension comes before change, and change does not necessarily come with the next sunny day?
We are all longing for a new season.
Comments