Dormant

 

 

I forget the energy that surges through spring until winter asserts itself again, and I sink into my seat, sleepy and silent.  It's not yet time for warm winds and sunshine, but we've stolen some spring days, anyway.  Last week, I waltzed outdoors in shorts and a tanktop, but this morning the snowplow woke me as it thundered past, and outside the window, the feral cat Stargo crouches on a sagging barn beam all dusted with snow.

Transitions are often hard.  It's easier to settle fully into things when one knows what to expect, though, really, one can never know what to expect.  Even winter itself is unpredictable, by turns so hushed and still it seems wrong to press our footprints on the snow, and then, in a fickle turn, wild and blustering so that it keeps us from sleep. This season of shifting winds and clouds and sky is a fitting backdrop to Lent. Sometimes sunshine fills the rooms and bloats the day with possibility. Sometimes it's a struggle to simply step out of bed.   He meets us in both places, so here we are.  Forty days of focusing on our need and on His great capacity will lead us straight to spring.