We are surrounded in white on white, cold on cold, the hunch and squeak of boots on packed snow beginning to sound like fingernails on a black-board made for chalk. 
The night before last was -11 (-23C), last night was -21( -30C). As I write just before dawn the temperature continues on its toboggan downwards, at speed. The air is unbreatheable. If I am out in it too long my nose freezes shut and my hands hurt no matter what, and I feel sick, my head aches all the time and the stars I am seeing are not the good kind. Just cold. 
I am very close to throwing my arms in the air and saying that’s it. I can’t do it anymore. My clothes are getting too thin. My brain is frozen solid. I have a permanent hunch. My animals … my poor animals. Though all except for the birds are bred for the cold I cannot bear it for them either.
But yesterday walking out of the barn, carrying my buckets, the sun was out, it was afternoon, I tilted my head up, drawn by an ancient response to sunlight and without any thought I closed my eyes and like magic, like something sliding through from a parallel universe, an-other world, I felt the lightest brush of warm from the sunlight on my face. And for the tiniest sparkle of a lateral moment I could smell the scent of the islands in that warm. 
Have you ever painted with watercolours. Maybe in an art class when you were small, or maybe you still do. Before you lay in the colour you wash the area with water, only where you want that colour to go though. Then with a touch you add the colour and it runs along the water trail. When I was a child I would make stripes across the sky and stack watery colours one above the other. This is how I see the air, in streams, with different temperatures and different temperaments and different speeds. Some horizontal, some rocking like waves, some twisting and folding, some shooting up and down, some volcanic, some flying across above us straight and strong as an arrow but not mixing, all in layers, just flowing through each other in their own water colour stream.
So I thought, yesterday afternoon as my face reached up further to that scent of home, why can’t a thread of Pacific air, with its scent of the sea, and the warm earth, and falling flowers, tattered and limping from its last leg on its long journey, why can’t this tiny pocket of the Pacific burst like tiny effervescent water bubbles up against my face.
It was absolutely still, a cone of silent stillness, hearing the blood in your veins still. The chickens cackle receded to a murmur, the paw of a cat lifted and softly slipped across his nose and back to the ground, the blink of a cows long ice filled lashes, the fold of an ear and the whispery wash of Pacific warm on that tiny piece of face held absolutely still, carefully nudged past with the merest caress and was gone.
We stood absolutely aware, alive, the animals and I, all our faces turned, that slight flare of the nostril, twitch of the gentle hoof, slow glance of a hen. Rustle of wool on beams of light.
Then we heard it.
A drop. The fall of a drop of melted ice. Its minuscule unassuming splash; a portent. A seer smiling in a tiny droplet. A toy parachute of diminutive pity.
The drop froze again as fast as it fell. The splash became a shatter. The narrow layer of promise slipped sideways and was gone. The cold closed in over the breach.
But we felt it. We heard it. There is a chink in winter’s armour. A pacific sigh slipped through. I have seen the chink and I have a little brass winter-bashing hammer. It is losing its hold. Soon we will begin to unfurl our fists from this ruthless winter. Not today. But soon. I promise.
You all have a lovely day.
Your friend on the farmy,
celi
The Kitchen's Garden 
71 responses to “A drop. A Promise.”
Very cold here, but I saw a patch of blue sky today. It did my heart good.
I know this cold, but, our life is not sustainable as yours is. Still . . . your writing this day is pure poetry. How you describe the air, the sun, the falling drop of water; these words take my breath away (and not in the frigid cold way).
I usually enjoy winter. This year – enough! The long, long nights and days of such bitter cold with no break has been hard, indeed, but, the days are longer now, the slant of the sun different, and good writers and farmers such as yourself showing the way. Well done. Thank you.
You are very welcome and thank You, for your kind words, we all work towards living a life that is as sustainable as we can manage.. there is no right or wrong way, just a little bit at a time..have a wonderful evening.. c
I’m mesmerized by your writing and chilled to think of the cold you are experiencing. But I love to think of the rainbow of streams of air finding their way from my side of the world to yours, holding onto the promise of soon, just wait, another day, as the earth turns almost imperceptibly but surely.
when it is that cold, keep your mouth closed, and make as many faces using your mouth, so the muscles around your lips move; – tip from guy in Russia (our interpreter); it works
Oh that is a good tip, sometimes when i come in I find it hard to talk properly, my mouth loses touch with the muscles of something! I shall try that tomorrow morning, another cold one but i think they will get a bit warmer every time now.. surely!
Meat, potatoes and gravy for cold winters. Lots of carbs….just like the animals. Keep the food coming. Keeps the fires going inside to keep warm. Thin people do better in warmer climes. Let’s go!
It is true about thin people, i can stay out twice as long as john can and he is easily twice my weight.. interesting..c
Your writing about the melting drop reminds me of CS Lewis’ description of the thawing of the endless winter in Narnia after the defeat of the White Witch! I so hope the temperatures start to rise and the sun shows her face more often on the farm 🙂
Celi, your prose is so beautiful today. Your words have given us hope for the warmth that is to come.
After reading your thoughts of the warm island breeze from New Zealand, I turned my face to the sun while out working with the animals and felt the sun too. I quieted myself and let it shine on my face, and it really did feel warm! Which put me in a much more cheerful mood. And yes, I agree with you, that spring is coming soon. Not today…..but soon! 🙂
Thrilling to think that something i wrote helped you feel that brush of warm too..wonderful.. c
Oh celi your writing just gets more and more beautiful – the harder things get for you. I’m so sorry it’s so very cold…I can only dsend you wind and rain and I wouldn’t wish the quanity we’ve had here in England on anyone….least of all you and the farmy animals.
Your dogs must be filthy, that is one thing about the thaw, MUDDY dogs! I need more dog towels.. c
Loved your post today, pure poetry.
And the saving grace of my snowy day today – I could see shadows on the snow! Which means of course, Mr. Sun showed his face for the first time in many days… not melting yet, but a promise.
That sun, wasn’t that wonderful.. c
This might be my favorite post of yours yet.
This post needs to be in the “winter” book, doesn’t it?
It definitely does!
Exquisite writing Celi, but oh my heart aches for you enduring this long long ordeal of snow in snow… hoping the crack in the cold comes soon for you all, much love, Valerie
Yes, indeed. Hadn’t thought of it in precisely that way (like fingernails on a chalkboard), but that’s been the sound I’ve heard for the past few weeks when going to and from the chicken coop! Counting the days ’til spring…
I love this post Celi winter has been hell I had tears many times for what you do there for all of them I am aware of all my injuries so when the time comes so say goodbye to my babies there will be no more to care for or worry about it is just too gut wrenching to be sure.
Just started painting again water colors too and I find I am painting skies the colors I wish they were 🙂
HUGS girl it is not easy for anyone in weather like we have had 😦