When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting with their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world and am free.
— Wendell Berry from The Peace of Wild Things And Other Poems
It is a brutally cold day. My outdoor thermometer reads 15 degrees below zero. The wind is taking it down another 15 degrees. As I stand at my kitchen sink, coffee in hand, I ponder the state of life this day and the bleakness of the season. There is a weariness sitting on my heart. This is perhaps, the hardest time of year to get through. Typically, we’ve had it with winter, especially when there has been no snow in which to play. Light is still in short supply, and it takes effort to gear up to go outside. Finding hope that better days, warmer days, lighter days are coming, this is our task.
A dose of deer
As the morning light comes up my gaze pans to the three deer that have spent the night under my white pine tree. They are awake and covered in frost. Their ears twist slowly, listening for any threats. At intervals they stand, stretch and slowly nuzzle each other. The comfort of this behavior seeps through my window and causes my heart to melt a little bit. I marvel at the adaptations that allows them to survive this challenging weather. Their winter coat consists of insulating hollow hairs that trap air and prevent heat loss, critical for survival in the cold. Their legs, folded underneath them as they rest, are comprised of mostly tendon and bone. The arteries and veins utilize a countercurrent heat exchange where arteries carrying warm blood run adjacent to veins returning cold blood to the body. This means their legs don’t freeze. These are only two of many adaptations that amaze me. Their ability to withstand whatever the weather throws at them is inspiring. Could I be as resilient? I am grateful they have chosen refuge in my yard.
A turning of the year
February 1 marks the celebration of Imbolc or the halfway point between winter solstice and vernal equinox. It signals the beginning of the end of this winter season. As I don my outside clothing, I think about how the march of seasonal changes continue despite what’s happening in the human world. This lightens my heart a bit more. I decide to take on the task of finding hope in the natural world as I step out the door.
Spirit of Squirrel
I walk to the edge of my yard, breathing in the cold air. It is raw and invigorating. I hear a scratching sound behind me and I turn, slowly so as not to disturb whatever action is happening. I can see that a grey squirrel has leaped from a red pine to my bird feeder. I recognize this little critter because of the color morph of its fur. Black with a red tail, he or she is relentless at raiding the seed no matter the effort I put into keeping it out of reach. Instead of stamping my foot to scare it away, I tuck myself further behind the red pine and watch.
The nimble dexterity of a squirrel is something to behold. This one hangs onto the feeder with its back feet and frantically gathers seeds with its front feet. Could I be that agile? The wind is blowing the feeder so just hanging on is a feat. It is clear as the seed is being gathered the squirrel is aware and alert to the landscape around it. I make a small sound as I brush against the bark on the tree and instantly the squirrel pivots, makes a graceful arcing jump and lands on the trunk just opposite of where I stand. It gives me one glance and then with great agility, scrambles up to its drey, made of twigs, leaves, moss and bark. Safely above me it proceeds to chatter its indignation at my presence. Its wild tail flicking emphasizes its displeasure. I smile. I can take a deeper breath. My heart clears a little more.
Signs of spring
Although it is still winter for six more weeks, there are subtle signs of change. The same squirrel that scolded me is deep in the throes of mating season. The loud, high-energy chases between males and females are happening every day. I am always entertained as I watch these aerial acrobatics. Up the tree trunk, down the tree trunk, around in circles, epic jumps from branch to branch, they make it easy to laugh. In roughly 40 days the season of birthing and rearing will begin and by April the young will emerge into their new world. Certainly, a harbinger of hope.
In one corner of my yard, I have some red osier dogwood shrubs. It is at this time of year that the stems begin to glow brilliant red. This is a definite sign of increasing daylight. I touch the buds to see if they have begun to swell. A closer inspection leads me to believe that yes, just the smallest amount of change is discernable. I sigh with relief. The warmer, lighter days are coming.
The wind is blowing more briskly now. My face feels the chill and I head indoors. As I quietly close the door I am enveloped in warmth and a sense of well-being. My heart shakes off a bit more of the weariness and I find it replaced with simple gratitude and indeed, hope. How lucky we are to have our basic needs met and live in a place where we can come into the peace of wild things.
May you find the time to go into nature amongst the wild things. And find the solace there.
Photo credits: “White-tailed deer doe with young” by U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service – Midwest Region is marked with Public Domain Mark 1.0.
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