The sun rises from behind two jack pines to the east of the study. . . a fiery orange ball. First, it peeks through the trees with its intense gaze. Than it spreads a pink blanket over the horizon and then on the snow in the foreground. From there the sky phases to a yellow, to a white and a then to its blue.
Foolish talk of springtime seasons the day's conversations. Part of me leaps to a resounding "Yes!" The the calendar knows better. Can spring be around the corner, after the next bend in the road?
First Thaw - 1997
Holy Cow! It's warm outside! I opened the door to let the dog out when I first noticed the change. The thermometer outside the dining room window was nearly invisible in the dark. At first, I could not find the column of red liquid. I was looking too low on the instrument. When I finally lifted my eyes up the scale, there it was. It registered well on the way to 40 degrees. Could this be the arrival of spring? Or is it just a winter thaw? My calendar says we are still a month away from the last snowstorm. But the bitter cold has been broken. For now, that is enough to conjure thoughts of spring. I am amazed how 40 degrees can be balmy.
2009
The first thaw inaugurates a wrestling match. Jacob's night long struggle with the angel must have ended in such a dawn, a winter thaw. One does not greet first warmth openly, wholeheartedly. One greets the first thaw with deep suspicion. Hope and Reason may have met together, but they certainly have not made friends. Instead, they squirm and writhe. It is plain that the air in which we bathe sets the stage every other event of our lives. And when it is changing, I contend with it. The warmth on the skin is warned away by the experience of thaws past.
The first thaw is a rich medium for conflict. Only in the fullness of spring is it resolved. That is nearer, but not yet.
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