Friday, December 21, 2012

Surrender to Snow

I am like an animal.  Alert and awake, I watch the aspens quake and the pines sway outside my lonely window.  A storm is on her way--it won't be more than half an hour now before whatever heavy bellied guests planning to pass through the sky will arrive to these woods.

.... Ah, the train, audible in its long slow whistle and the rumble of steel tracks underneath.  Wheels spin and screech.  He's running from her, quick on the rail that lay out before him, a rail that can last forever should he let it, her slow and serious clouds just a few miles behind.

The spiders have all made their way indoors, not rhythmically and regimented like ants, but like old friends sauntering into the bar.  I spot them sporadically on the walls, yet consistently throughout the hours of my day. On the blue tile of the shower they scurry in the mist.  Each tile is sleek with water, hot water instantly turned tepid against the cold ceramic.  Or they claim presence on the white textured ceiling, easily mistaken for a hole or missing paint, the spiders rest.  Their dark bodies and delicate legs are easy to spot for those who are looking.

Taking no consideration for noise, the wind continues and I can feel the distance she has travelled tonight.  Loud now, restless and perhaps a big angry (is it resentful?) she keeps me up.  I don't mind, don't mind sharing this moment, 4 am and grateful to have been chosen as a witness.  Sleep will come.  When precipitation meets cold cold air the snow will pepper down in large flakes and calmness will settle in.  Snow will bring stillness to my stirring and silence to this town.  Letting go, she will slow, and sucummb to the pause; the wind will surrender.  Her noise and relentless strength, power and thrashing speeds will eventually give way to the stillness, the silence, the surrender to snow.