Power in the Cold

I thought he was dead, but there he is, right in front of me on the grass covered in snow, smiling at me. He is fading away, though, like a water puddle under a hot summer day.

           The wooden cabins along the banks of the lake are flooded with people. Some head toward the cold bath house built on stilts. I do not join them, neither will I ever again.

Last year, I run from him. He caught me and made me sick. His touch is poisonous for the unprepared. This year, I want to face him.

I do not want to be afraid of him. Instead, I want to embrace him.

I leave the decorative domes to the tourists. The lines are so Swedish. Think angular and then perfectly balanced lines. Nothing is wasted. Nothing protrudes. Everything is opened like the floor to ceiling glass windows designed to let in as much as the outside as possible. As much light in a country where light reaches your skin only half the time.

All those people. They all want to feel the power from the cold.

Winter might be here, but I am the only one to see him.

I lead him to the lake. I tell him I don’t want to be his enemy so that he doesn’t have to hurt me. I want to grab his hand, but my fingers only catch a ray of sunlight. Winter often comes with patchy sunlight and endless nights.

Words crowd my lips. Yet, I don’t know which ones to choose, so I remain silent and he remains silent too. His head searches mine. His silver hair mixes with mine. We touch, on the frozen pond.

I put on my wooden skates. He puts on a layer of frost to keep himself comfortable. His reflection meets mine on the ice. Side by side, we look at each other, in a puddle slowly forming at our feet where the ice already dissolves.

“I have met you last year,” I say.

“And I almost miss you last year,” he says.

“I was afraid.”

“You shouldn’t.”

“How can one stop being afraid in the presence of greatness?” I say.

“You are the greatest.”

“If only that was true.”

We glided on the frozen lake rump to rump, aware of the ice crackling underneath our skates.

I don’t want the cold to drain me of life. I want him to be my source of power and a constant companion for the next six months. I want us to walk side by side without shuttering.

The lake vibrates under the creation of more ice. Winter is making the ice stronger. His feet strike the ice and create powerful vibrations. Sounds zap the lake so loudly they probably can be heard miles away. The colder, the louder the sounds. He strikes the ice harder and the sky seems to break into pieces.

I am knocked down.

Winter blows on my face to soothe me. I open my eyes. I didn’t realize they were closed. He blows on my lids so that the ice that formed there can fall like tiny needles stitching the ground.

I brought tools. A long sharp knife is all I need. I cut through the ice with it, one segment at a time, one breath at a time, one muscle contracting at a time.

The ice sings for me.

I get into the transient chant.

My knife is not enough.

I return to the shore to pick up more tools.

Finally, I cut through the few meters of snow and ice. I use first a pickaxe and then a saw. I cut the ice in small cubes and haul them out of the lake. One by one. Then I scoop up crystals left behind. My bath is ready.

The spirit of the ice rises from the lake, ancient and angry. Winter will settle him down. I shudder at the thought that the lake could break me like a twig.

I ignore my thoughts and dangle my feet in the water at the edge of the ice hole. My feet go numb.

Winter watches me. “Shall I get in the bath with you?”

“The hole is small. Can the both of us fit in that tiny hole?”

“I can curl around through the ice.”

“And I can curl around in your arms.”

“Will you trust me?”

“Maybe.”

“Trust me. It’s an order.”

 I have no choice. I am the one who decided Winter would be my friend this year and I would face the cold. I am the one who invited him. I must go through with it now.

“I will trust in you now.”

I ease into the icy waters. My skin prickles. The blood rushes through my body, trying to do its best to keep me alive. And in this moment, I feel more alive than in all the other moments when I felt secure and warm. In the arms of danger, I feel revived.

And then panic strikes. I hold both sides of the bath and I am going toward the patch of sunlight I marched through before, proud and way too confident.

I try to run away from Winter.

He takes me in his arms and gives me a hug. I let my head rest on his shoulder, moulding myself to him.

The echo of faraway laughers and wooden skate hitting the lake seem from another world. They are drums rhythmically accompanying the dings and pings of the ice. The voices of the lake join the eerie voices of an otherworldly place.

I feel exhilarated. I feel powerful. I feel alive.

At this moment, I don’t think of the past or the future; I am totally present in the moment. I give myself to the warmth rushing into me. I do not feel the cold anymore. When I emerge from Winter’s arms, I don’t need to put my clothes back on or slide into my furs. A pair of socks is all I need.

I work out in a gym full of disinfectants. Synthetic clothes trap my body in a plastic embrace and catch dust mites. Wireless implants pollute my mind and keep me from listening, really listening to the world. But out here, I feel free. I can lift big things, climb rocks, and swing from branch to branch along the lake where Winter awaits and meets me half way, half of the year. I do not pull at my clothes to wrap the around me. I do not fill my head with strangers’ lives. I make myself ready for him.

“Are we friends now?” I ask.

“Friends for life.”