Winter River

On Christmas day I walked through the woods. I cried and talked aloud to Lydia, to Jesus, to the cosmos in general. I wrote Lydia's name in the snow. It made me feel like the earth and sky wouldn't forget her.

I came to the river. I leaned up against the boathouse dock, closed my eyes and listened. At first, all there was was the sound of my breathing. Then, from somewhere deep in the water I heard a whooshing sound. The river was groaning - singing. It was beautiful and made something in my heart vibrate.

Even while frozen, the river was alive and singing.

In months, when the spring comes, the river will thaw and will be again a hospitable place for things to live and grow. It will move, and the song once in the depths will rise again to the surface to be heard by any who pass by.

My soul is the winter river. There are layers of ice sheltering my heart. Still, quiet, frozen. But somewhere in the deep places is a groaning song. I am alive. I am singing. And the spring will come.