February's Cold

I think the cold days of February are a time of both poetic and meditative reflection.

Soon comes the breath of February thaw

A warming of the chill and icy clime

That melts the frozen crust of wintertime

Into a fluid sheen of crystal awe.

At any age, young, old or in-between it is always a time to think of what could and should come soon. Warmer weather. 

All of us do that thought extrapolation. December and January will do it to you and so will just a few days of below zero temperatures. It's not just the cold temperatures; it's the kind of cold that bites into your exposed skin and stings. It’s the kind of cold where with each breathe the inside of your nose tightens and you take shallow gasps and shiver in anticipation.

I like the way Thoreau once put it: "It has been a glorious winter day, its elements so simple,—the sharp clear air, the white snow everywhere covering the earth, and the polished ice. Cold as it is, the sun seems warmer on my back even than in summer, as if its rays met with less obstruction. And then the air is so beautifully still; there is not an insect in the air, and hardly a leaf to rustle."

Fortunately February is a short month. March to me always seems to want to be a bit warmer even though it’s known for cold brisk winds.

I once had the pleasure of staying for a time at a friend’s cottage. They called it “The Little House.” It had a large picture window on the backside overlooking a flowing mountain stream. The tops of rounded rocks poked above the flow and were covered with snow. It struck my poetic muse and the result was this poem entitled, “Little House in Winter.”

The winter sun above the cold

Reflects upon a passing stream

And warms my heart as if foretold

It’s presence sits upon a dream.

Smooth pates of stone with tufts of snow

Along and in the liquid ice,

Await the spring and rising flow

To warm their heads with water’s slice.

Cold stands of trees, along the edge,

Add texture to the frigid art

As winter light plays off a ledge

And holds the shadows far apart.

But then I turn around and claim

The warmth within a cozy room

And leave the window’s glass to frame

The Little House’s winter bloom.