In Minnesota, January is a synonym for cold. Winter holds us in its icy grip now. The days are growing longer, but it is too early to notice much change in either length of day or temperature. The long, dark nights of winter continue. During the day, the sky may clear, but at best it manages an anemic blue. More often it is gray or white. Saying that it is white, does not necessarily mean that it is snowing or overcast-sometimes, the sky simply appears to be white, a January sky.
On some sunny days, when it is cold out but the sky is clear, one can see tiny, sparkling ice crystals floating gently in the air. They are beautiful, and it can be beautiful here in the winter, a compensation for the cold that wraps itself around one, or blows through one, or sneaks inside one’s coat or car or home. It is easy to imagine the cold as a creature in itself, large enough to cover states and countries, invisible and lurking outside, kept at bay thanks only to thick walls, warm clothing, and furnaces or radiators. Yet this creature can twist morning light into sun dogs or even create sparkling arcs of ice around the moon when it is full. It can tease glitter from snowy fields and ice-covered trees. It can transform an empty meadow or silent forest into a slow-lover’s paradise covered in pristine heaps of fresh-fallen powder.
It can kill. The road or sidewalk covered in black ice, the obstacle hidden beneath the snow, or the very cold itself—falling, hypothermia, frost bite, freezing to death. All are possible in January.
January is a synonym for cold, and this January promises to be one of the coldest in years. I look out the window and see the white mantle of snow and the shimmer of ice, the denuded branches of trees shivering in the cold, the cold exhaust of furnaces blowing and shredding in the wind. My shoulders hunch, and I clutch my cup of warm tea. At most any time, I’d rather be outside than in, but today I have huddled inside as much as possible.
The next two days promise to be colder yet, with the temperature not rising about the 0 degrees Fahrenheit threshold. The windchill will make it feel even colder, and the weather forecasters are reminding us that bare flesh can freeze in a matter of minutes in this weather. I am grateful for our home and furnace, the garage to protect the vehicles from the extremes of cold, the fact that school and work are closed on Monday. I give thanks for these.
I worry about those people who have to be out: those who provide essential public safety and life-saving services, the underpaid underclass who serve at restaurants and grocery stores and gas stations, the civil servants and the skilled workers who respond to electrical or heating or plumbing emergencies. I also worry about the homeless.
Many organizations exist to help those who are homeless, especially in this cold weather. They are on high alert, and they are working hard to bring people in from the cold, for a least a few hours or days of relief from the dangerous temperatures. Other charitable organizations, and public ones as well, are working to help people as best they can with emergency handouts of money for gas or food or help with heating and electrical systems. May God bless them for their efforts, for they truly are doing the work of Christ. Few people are homeless or hungry by choice. This weather adds only another wicked dimension to their daily struggle to survive.
I wonder, too, about the wildlife I love to see in warmer weather. There were fresh fox tracks in our yard this morning, although I haven’t seen a fox in weeks. I have seen tracks from rabbits and voles. I have seen a few crows, but not many other birds. I wonder how all of the wild creatures are keeping themselves warm and fed. I wonder how many will succumb to the cold.
Soon we will turn the corner on winter, although we can reasonably expect cold temperatures to linger into March at least. These bitter, frigid days will pass behind us, and spring will come. The green will return; life will stir anew. It is a short blast of arctic air, and I give thanks that it is brief. I try to seek warmth in those around me and hope I can give it to others.
