Under Winter's Surface

Winter cold just naturally slows us down as we are, after all... the human animal. Sadie , my 18 week old puppy is the only thing in my life that isn't slowed down, except perhaps my inner ski racer who finds the hard pack of February an exhilarating surface to experiment with speed. The cold is especially cold when you have to go out at night while the little animal does her little animal business. But the stars are exquisite and if she didn't have to go out, I might miss out on seeing the gorgeous star studded black night sky. Just 12 months ago, we made the decision to have our beloved dog put down after 14 years of devotion. We went almost exactly 1 year as a dog-less home and during those months, I came to experience what healing a dogs presence can offer. I became aware of how much company an animal is and how it's daily routine can enhance my own . I'm outside more...I walk more and rather than using the treadmill in my house for regular exercise, I snowshoe in the woods so Sadie can accompany me and use up some of her boundless energy and enthusiasm. Getting me into the woods during the heart of winter opens me up to the benefits of the trees that surround me as I walk. The air seems fresher in the woods and the silence, deeper. After all the snow storms, and the rhythmic beating down of the path that heads up the hill behind our house, the woods feels strangely still. I see no animal tracks except an occasional line of turkey tracks. Earlier in winter there were plenty of stories told in the tracks of the passing wildlife. Deer, birds, squirrel and all manner of fox and perhaps even bobcat...all wrote their presence in the snow. I experience the woods as quiet, deep, restorative and I stop often to gaze at the trees lacy profile against the sky. Sadie runs circles around me...and takes the hill three or four times to my one. She wears no shoes and when the snow is really deep, and soft, she swims. She is interested in absolutely everything she encounters and she hears things that I can't hear. I imagine she can hear the rustle and movement of the moles and shrew, mice and voles. She digs like she's headed to China and then pops up suddenly with her face covered in snow. She engages with everything that comes in her path. Her youthful ways are inspiring. I think about the milkweed in the summer...the smell of the flowers and the occasional monarch pupae I find underneath the leaves. In the cold of winter, the dead and empty shell of the pod pokes up through the deep snow. It reminds me of summer and butterflies. In November, I use the pods to make my wreaths because they look like birds perched on a limb. Now I see that the dead pods are puppy toys. They provide endless entertainment as they get batted around and buried and dug again. The dry brown pods covered with freshly fallen snow shimmering in afternoon sunlight are no longer the shells of the dead and gone. They are useful and noticed and serve a purpose even in death. They have surpassed themselves in life and become in the slow cold of deep winter, a work of art. Hmmmm. And way down under, they have all they need to rise to life again when the sun warms us all up.