I asked winter to come back the other night. I wasn’t ready to let go. He listened to me and briefly returned with one of his most beautiful snow falls of this year.
I stood at the window when he made his return, acting like I was presiding over my own snowy kingdom, and got so unbelievably furious when I saw someone had made tracks through the pristine whiteness that I actually screamed to my boyfriend – sat a mere three feet away playing Battlefield or something else involving gunning down army personnel in cold blood – HOW DARE THEY! SOME BASTARD HAS RUINED IT, THEY’VE RUINED THE BLOODY SNOW FOR FUCKING FUCKS SAKE!’ Slight overreaction? Perhaps. But I wanted to preserve what I felt would be the last snow of the year for as long as I possibly could and seeing tracks (that weren’t mine. If they’d been mine it would be a different story) was just not on.
I went to sleep that, wishing morning a speedy return…however as luck would have it, living in the wettest part of Sweden does not a good winter make, and when daylight returned the rain had made all but the tiniest handful of snow disappear. Devastated doesn’t even come close.
While the title of this post is associated with the coming of spring, it also stands as a reminder that the North is warming, and at a scarily fast rate. Winter this year wasn’t the winter of my childhood in the North of England. Nor was it the winter of my boyfriend’s childhood in Middle Sweden. There were moments during the winter months where I felt almost paralyzed with fear that winter would never truly show himself. He did, but ever so briefly. If winter was hardly here for us, it breaks my fucking heart to think what winter was like for Nanook this year in the High Arctic.
I went out for a run the other day – my first run in months – but I could hardly concentrate. The last of the ice was blinking at me, and several times I nearly went arse over tit because all I really wanted to do was look, treasure and worship the end of winter. I decided to head back out the next day and capture what I could of the ice before spring kissed it goodbye.
Saying goodbye to winter for another year – though technically it’s not another year because he’ll be back in eight months, hopefully with vengeance – is always extremely difficult. But walking through the forest yesterday, with melt water soaking through my boots, I thought about the promise of spring, her promise of new beginnings. This winter has been one of the most challenging of my life, but I’ve risen from it re-born – emotionally, mentally, spiritually and, probably most importantly for me, creatively.
As I walked, I thought about how we all, as individuals, have something special, something unique to offer ourselves and offer – if we wish to – the world. If you have found your purpose, something that makes you feel like you want to live forever so you can do it always, then hold it close, hold it tight, treasure it like you treasure your own heartbeat, like you treasure your own bones.
Allow it to help you grow, allow it to help you to help others grow. My purpose is to write. My purpose it to blog, to create poetry, to publish books, to open myself up, heart, veins and all, and show people that they can be whoever they want – as wyrd as they want to be – with no shame. If you want to do something significant this spring, treasure yourself and treasure what makes you…you. Hone your skills, devote yourself to your passion, learn something new everyday, something you really want to know, read more, breathe more, walk more, live fully and openly and beautifully. Grow as she grows, grow in Spring’s image.