Winter Crusade

I hear the first notes tip-toe onto parchment sheet. There is a subtle wind that begins to blow straight falling snow sideways. In the West, a large front moves in with vigor. This is the blade masqueraded under a coat, a long labored plot has taken place behind our backs. Then the strings stab wind and fury into the landscape. Rigorous violin blizzards come to bury the gentle foot falls. The hallelujah sunrise has left my view. For a time I'm struggling through my speech. Majestic chords rise and rise. Snow buries streets, insurance agencies, government buildings. Everything in sight carries a bit of burden. Roofs collapse and no one is to blame. Cars spin into each other; it's nothing personal. Some semblance of order is dissolved into a white, gaping void. The unstopping push and push of the violins to see this truth. Looking upon the world I have to surrender my desires of material. The snow buries the plow, and rake. Here I come to terms with my body that needs rest. Quietly and gently, a solo violin rocks us in cradle. Slowly back into a warmed home. Rabbits sleep together under the ground like ideas. The great oaks are naked, and resting. The snow melts a little, and comes back in droves. One week it's freezing, below zero and the next we're thinking of Spring. Old man winter retreats for one final bulge. With renewed vitality the violins sound even more determined to conquer. They strum with malice to my ears. However, now we are aware of triumph. The offensive is not what it once was. Ice and snow blow heavily. Winds begin to retreat to the highest heavens. The Sun breaks upon the clouds like a bow, and I see grace. The volume levels out. A pitiless Old god steps back once again to our unconscious. The strings are serious sounding now, growing slower in their arguments. The heart has gone out of it, and we put our winter boots back in the closet. A last breath can be heard, with a final word sounding. For now, we are through it all.