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.”
Fingers crossed it gets much warmer soon.
In England we’ll all be living on stilts and growing rice if the monsoons don’t stop 😉
What a winter we have all had.. c
I know this is prose. But it reads like poetry. Beautiful!
Hang in there, Celi. The sun is as warm as it was end of October and, even though the temps are so low, the snow is melting. Icicles are everywhere and, like you, I took a few shots of them yesterday. I’ve not seen more sub-zero temps in the forecasts, so, maybe that bit of Pacific air was a harbinger of good things to come. 🙂
We even have icicles in the fir trees! fingers crossed this is the last of the really really bad mornings.. c
It is true Celi, I think tomorrow we will see a glimmer of melting! By the weekend, we will indeed have a taste of spring temperatures. We can hold on one more day… content with these droplets of promise.
OK, one more day.. holding on.. c
Hold on tight, while doing chores this morning at -17F I actually could feel the warmth of the sun! It gives me hope. All of the winged and 4 legged denizens found a wall in the sun to lean upon and soak up some of those warming rays. The cardinals have started singing, it even sounds like spring, it can’t be long now…..
I hear more birds here too, though I am sure they are wondering why they came, with all the snow covering their fields!.. c
I understand precisely how you feel about this long winter.
I will put a little cup of Pacific air in an envelope and send it to you. As for me, I will chew on the hunch and squeak of boots on crisp snow for a while – a sensation I know so well and miss.
I’m sure I’ve told you before.. but I love your writing, Celi. It touches me.. much like your wind and your watercolor streams. I’m so glad I visited you today. We’ve got minus 18 that says it “feels like” minus 28.. I think those websites should say “feels like hell frozen over”:D xx
morning barbara, my dad said that maybe hell is not really hot, maybe it is just incessantly COLD! c
most likely…xx
I’m convinced that all the cold and snow this year is Mother Nature’s way of teaching us to enjoy the beauty in all of nature. And I’m quite sure that when spring arrives, we’re all going to be dancing with joy this year 🙂
It will be a wet one Deb, so we can dance in the rain!.. c
What beautiful prose, Celi; your descriptions are almost like poetry. This post was a pleasure to read!
I wish I could send the lovely weather we have right now to you.
I am sitting out side with my dog and listening to the bees humming at the bee feeding station right beside me.
There is a book called “North with the Spring” about the journey of a naturalist and his wife. They started in the Everglades and followed Spring as it moved north. And I can say that yes spring is coming!!! Birds are singing here!!
We have sun today and I am so ready for the predicted warmer temperatures! I hope you will see spring like temperatures this weekend, too!
And this, too, will pass, c. This seemingly forever frozen life, it will, honestly.
I so understand…although we are not as cold as you, nor waist deep in snow…the need for spring is great. But I saw two blue birds this morning…they say on the wood pile and looked at me saying…We are Back…a little early but not by much. You see we like to be the first. So I know, now I really know spring is coming.
Linda
http://coloradofarmlife.wordpress.com
*♥´¨) ¸.-´¸.-♥´¨) Happy Valentine’s Day¸.-♥¨) (¸.-` ♥♥´¨
When the warmth does come, I’ll be holding my breath in fear of flooding. We have A LOT OF SNOW just waiting to melt into basements everywhere.
I have absolutely no idea how you survive such bitter cold. I hope it breaks soon.