A Winter Bluejay

Sara Teasdale

Crisply the bright snow whispered,
Crunching beneath our feet;
Behind us as we walked along the parkway,
Our shadows danced,
Fantastic shapes in vivid blue.
Across the lake the skaters
Flew to and fro,
With sharp turns weaving
A frail invisible net.
In ecstasy the earth
Drank the silver sunlight;
In ecstasy the skaters
Drank the wine of speed;
In ecstasy we laughed
Drinking the wine of love.
Had not the music of our joy
Sounded its highest note?
But no,
For suddenly, with lifted eyes you said,
“Oh look!”
There, on the black bough of a snow flecked maple,
Fearless and gay as our love,
A bluejay cocked his crest!
Oh who can tell the range of joy
Or set the bounds of beauty?

There are always going to be those moments and those people who try to trip you up. 

Like this banana peel left so coincidentally right beside my car door.

Had I not been aware, I might have slipped on it like some silly cartoon, and there are more than a few of you who would have loved to witness that. (You know who you are – hell, I’m one of you. I’ve watched a YouTube video of models wobbling and ultimately falling on the runway more times than I’d like to admit.) It’s human nature, and a rather ugly side of it. I’m just as susceptible as the next person – though I’d like to think I’d never leave a banana peel in such a possibly-precarious position. No, it’s more than like – I most definitely would never leave a banana peel – or any piece of garbage – out in a parking lot or other public place. Littering is gross, and denotes a certain moral failing. 

So what did I do? I stepped gingerly around it. We can make all that choice. In pre-COVID times I might have taken a tissue and picked it up so no one else might befall a cartoon fate, but in this day and age I don’t touch anything on the ground.

Dodging banana peels is a metaphor for much of life lately, and so we continue on the journey…

Two days before Christmas usually gets me to feeling slightly claustrophobic and cramped – rushed and flushed and mushed – and so I offer this light and airy post to inject some space and expanse into the relatively-unbooked season. There’s no reason to feel it that much this year, without gatherings and social obligations, so maybe this is just residual echoes of memories where such stress would typically reside. I’m grateful for its absence, as well as for the realization that every year can be this easy should we so deem it. Very few social obligations are legitimate obligations – no such obligation actually exists. There are preferences or choices or suggestions. We don’t have to do any of it. And I wish I’d realized that sooner. 

For now, and for this little Wednesday morning post, I give you this prickly bit of greenery from a recent trip to Faddegon’s Nursery, where I shall find such verdant peace in the ensuing winter months. Take a moment and take a few deep breaths. Remember the reason for the season. Find the space in the midst of all the holiday mayhem.

Andy said he heard the cardinals yesterday as he cleared some ice from our front step. There must be a pair that has made a home in the row of Steeplechase thuja that lines the street. I’ve seen a smaller female fluttering about the side yard, in the bushes near the garage where the lilac blooms in late spring. That space is covered with a couple feet of snow, but the lilacs have risen above it, as has the climbing hydrangea, whose papery, unfurling bark is now a focal point of architectural grace and prettiness. 

In this wondrous way, winter reminds of summer – the contrast so vital and vibrant, not unlike the way these faux cardinals show off the chartreuse glory of the lemon cypress shrub in which they so whimsically nestle. Welcome, winter. Let’s be friends this season – we need that more than ever. 

“The reason birds can fly and we can’t is simply because they have perfect faith, for to have faith is to have wings.” ― J.M. Barrie

“Snow was falling,
so much like stars
filling the dark trees
that one could easily imagine
its reason for being was nothing more
than prettiness.”
– Mary Oliver

We make our winter wishes today, writing them out for the season of slumber then burning and releasing them into the universe in the hope of manifestation. This year, perhaps more than any other, they are fraught with serious concerns, weightier issues than the frivolous world to which I hope we one day return. This winter solstice rings in mightily, and I’m hoping we get to add some merry to it before the calendar year is up and a new one – so richly and deservedly welcomed – begins.

For most of my life, I have dreaded and despised the winter. It’s still my least favorite season by far, but I’ve learned to lean into its enchantment and wonder – the way it holds snowy counsel and cozy wisdom if you only know how to listen. It will not shout or demand notice like spring and summer can do. It will not jolt you into awareness like the crisp crack of fall. Winter merely whispers, even in its harshest snowstorms and most biting winds, taking advantage of its darkness and tricking you with its whiteness.

True, it has its icy maelstroms, and come January there’s always a couple days of a tumultuous thaw that messes with the emotions as much as it heaves any open earth beneath it. For the most part, however, winter is for silent slumber, a time when the gardens and the land recline in repose, waiting and resting for it all to begin again in the spring. By rights, we should all be slowing down and honoring the stillness.

“That’s what Hanukkah is about: trying to survive the darkness on the far-fetched hope there’s still some life and light left in the universe. It’s more than just a religious story. The days have been growing shorter, imperceptibly but inescapably darker…. Heading into the night of the winter solstice, every spiritual tradition has some kind of festival of light. We’re all just whistling in the dark, hoping against hope that someone up there will see these little Hanukkah candles and get the hint.” ~ Lawrence Kushner

Candles and light, wood and glass, ice and snow – this is what we shall have, and this is what shall be beautiful. Paring down the peripheral clutter and removing the extraneous debris from our home and our lives is the goal for the season. Before then, however, the happy muss and fuss of Christmas and New Year’s Eve – and I have some sparkle and super-extra excess in store for those nights. 

In between, there will be contemplation and mindfulness.  

“Winter is the time for comfort, for good food and warmth, for the touch of a friendly hand and for a talk beside the fire: it is the time for home.” ~ Edith Sitwell