Thursday, February 11, 2016

Dark and quiet and cold...

I took Bela for his evening walk about 10:30 p.m. tonight. It was so dark and cold and quiet.

The street lights on Cornwall Avenue aren't all on at once, they alternate on and off to save electricity, so there are canopies of deep darkness along the way. The darkness embraced us as we walked and he sniffed.

This is also one of the coldest nights of the winter--and the next three days will be as bad or worse. I could have been heard begging Bela to pee! He seems to be oblivious to the cold, at least until his foot pads start to hurt. He sniffed a lot more than he peed! It was so cold my back ached.

And quiet....Lord, was it quiet!

When snow is on the ground, the silence falls. When it is dark, the silence deepens.

Occasionally a car would pass on Route 10--a block or so away. But it seems more distant than usual and the cold and darkness swallowed up the sound, muffled it, made it seem far away, like a sound in a dream.

I hate winter, I do.

But, I must admit, there is something strangely comforting and redemptive about the chill and the darkness and the quiet of winter nights. Something soothing and comforting and whole. Bela gave me a gift by taking so long to pee.

Take a walk (a short one!) late at night some of the next few days. Feel the chill. Lean into the dark. Be present to the silence.

Feel, lean, be present. Not just on your chill, dark, quiet walk--but always....

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some ponderings by an aging white man who is an Episcopal priest in Connecticut. Now retired but still working and still wondering what it all means...all of it.