Serenity of the solstice

Winter arrives on the calendar this week. On the 21st at 4:02 a.m., to be exact. So what should I expect from this winter? The worst, I suppose, if I so choose to look at it that way.

But what if I expect the best of winter, of the gems to come, hidden in the serenity of snow and cold? These gems will surely turn my head even as I turn my collar to the wind.

It’s already happening. I see the wide flowerheads of faded sedum dressed up in white hats. Chimney smoke curls into the frigid night air, softly illuminated by holiday lights as the wisps of white ghosts tease the crescent moon.

There’s more to come. I’ll see swirls and lines of frost on the window panes of an old shed. An icicle will hang in the bushes, changing colors as it catches the setting sun’s golden rays. The same golden rays that will find their way through a south window, warming a nook for reading a book.

I’ll study tracks in the snow, discovering a rabbit’s night moves to and from the seeds below the bird feeder, and deer sharing my snowshoe path. A cardinal will appear among the first fat snowflakes of an approaching snowfall, flashing its red feathers as a warning to all birds to feed before taking shelter from the storm.

Winter is bright red high-bush cranberries against a backdrop of pine boughs laden with snow, dogs bouncing in the fluffy whiteness with hints of fun on their noses, lake ice booming in the darkness, the lonesome hoots of an owl at midnight, and geese shrouded in the rising steam of river water when the mercury in morning settles at zero.

Perhaps I’ll approach a feeding chickadee, so close I can almost feel the energy of its dime-weight body vibrating to stay warm. Oh, yes, warmth, what we all seek. I’ll carry in an armful of warmth from the wood pile for the late afternoon’s repose, the serenity slipping into a cozy evening and then, quite simply, a morning indoors, warmed by the wood heat and a hot drink.

It’s winter. Sometimes the best of times.