I’ve changed rooms this morning to write. Usually I am at our kitchen counter. I take the bar stool on the farthest end, facing a wall of windows. The backyard view is wonderful in the spring and summer because trees are in full bloom. Stringy saplings sprout up, struggling to reach the height of the more adult trees. Ivy, fallen branches, and leaves cover the floor of a green canopy, filling in sunlit crevices. It is so full of growth that you can not see the houses behind us. Private seclusion, peaceful presence. But in the winter I can see straight through. Trailing green vines slumber under the snow, icicles hang from branches shivering against the wind. A few foolish bark towers cling to dead leaves, hoping for warmth, unaware that this will only be to their detriment come spring when Mother Nature is trying to breathe life back into her garden. Instead of graceful deer foraging through the denseness, black squirrels spot white winter vastness, scurrying between forgotten toys and wood piles.
Today I have moved to the dining room in the front of the house. The morning sun brings glistening guests to each chair around me, filling up the room with welcome warmth. Two windows facing the front yard reveal different pictures. The far right window is full of blinding snow. The sun’s reflection burns my eyes, leaves round flashing yellow spots. Yet, the window to the left reveals large patches of grass. Green, like mashed peas not fresh broccoli, but still green. Hiding beneath the cold, careless, white cover the earth has been holding her breath. Waiting. And as the sun silently melts away, she is able to breathe again.
A sigh of relief. Yesterday’s concert went well and was played beautifully. All of the anxiety and concern about facing an uncomfortable situation melted once we started playing. I am so thankful that my husband, DW, encouraged me to play one last time. I sat tall, played with confidence and was able to walk away knowing that I finished what I started. Amazingly this morning I am at complete peace – I can breathe again.