William Kay Blacklock, “Hot Toast”
Winter arrived, and brought with it Spring. In September, my belly warned me of winter’s impending arrival…and for no reason, I felt I wasn’t ready enough. And while I cannot say if we were actually prepared for it or not, this Winter’s arrival was different somehow. We were warm, with full cupboards…basic, but so safe and important. We turned the lights off in the workshop. We had no real plans.
We rested.
We rested for the first time in so long.
We sat with warm blankets and watched nonsense on the tv. We ate all of the snacks, and then bought more. We casually talked about future plans without the pressure of pinning them down, with the understanding that we both know exactly what we want. And while some were banging pots and pans and celebrating, we listened to the new year start under an open window and heavy quilts, together with our babes in our beautiful old bed.
And all of this was what we needed.
I think we forgot how to take care of ourselves. I don’t think it was visible from the outside, but inside we forgot to be hopeful. Our joyful hearts got switched off while we were trying to get by, and with the light and calm of the new year, the tiniest spark from one of the thousands of candles we made this winter lit the old wood pile behind our ribs and eyes. January feels warmer than usual, and I swear I can feel tiny seconds of Spring: the peepers, garden starts, open windows, bulbs, fresh baby chicks, and bird sounds.
Alas, its Winter, and we still have months before those wonderful things begin again. In the meantime, we have warm sourdough bread, and taps in the old maple tree, candlelight, big bowls of corn grits with a little sugar and milk, socks warming in front of the fire, and a pile of garden catalogs. And that’s pretty perfect too.