“In the depths of winter I finally learned there was in me an invincible summer.”

— Albert Camus

The first snowfall of the winter arrived yesterday.  This was not the sort of snow that calls me outside to play.  I love the snowy days when whole communities of snowflakes band together before they hit the ground, the barely-freezing days when playful clouds drop mini-snowballs on our heads as we watch the world quickly become silent and white.  In that muffled, padded place where my heartbeat is the loudest sound, I find myself held captive.  With only white swirling around me, I can let it weave a cocoon that holds me tightly and sends me inward.  It is on such days that I possess the sort of silence that I need to explore the cocoon world that lies within the white silence.  It is then that I discover the seeds produced by my last year’s harvest.  It is then that I discover the Spring that longs to burst forth again.  It is then that I remember the golden days of summer; and I long to nurture the potential in the seed.  It is in the deepest cold of winter that I clearly feel the fire of summer, burning invincibly and lying in wait for its next moment of revelation.

But the first snowfall of winter was the sort that blew fiercely and stung our faces.  The desperate efforts of the plows to clear the roadways shattered the silence and scraped away my cocoon before its fibers could fully encapsulate me.  Without its protection, only cold intruded and froze my dreams of summer before they could fully materialize.  Today, as the snow blows horizontally and tries to convince me that it still is falling, I find no pleasure in the winter white.  I close my eyes and dream — not of the days of summer that seem so far away, but of the sort of winter day that drifts gently around my feet and plants them in the stillness of the silent white season of rest.