The unbearable winter calling

January 15th, of 20221

Sitting here, in my wooden rocking chair, I can hear a calling, deep inside of this old soul. An unbearable calling, to be exact. One that you simply can’t resist to not ignore. Sitting alone by my cabin window, with a cup of hot tea, admiring the frost growing on my window, seeing the snow take wing with the wind, the trees dance with the breeze, it's almost like I am living in a child's dream. I can see the cardinals riding the winter gale, squirrels chomping on little pine cones;  oh, what a beautiful sight. 

I can see children on the further plow fields, building human-like figures with a carrot nose and eyes made of cole in the snow, and others sledding downhills with wooden toboggans. I see young a couple,  holding hands, all bundled up in their scarves and warm hats and fully in love. Oh, look! My neighbors are skating on their summer lake, with their newborn son, who is also bundled up in warm clothing, wrapped in his father’s strong arms. I see can the power and calling light in their eyes, the kiss of the cold on their red cheeks. How I wish I could be at their young age again! Why, living in this old lady's body, who's been sitting alone for so many years, fearing and doubting. It feels like the passing of my dearest husband has pushed me to numbness of joy, to prevent myself from living like the youth, why, isn't that calling in the deep of my heart? The call to live young and in youth again? 

I will never forget, my six-year-old self would be sliding down the steep hills of my granddad's plow fields. I'd be making snow angels, with big feather wings and little halos made with little sticks and branches from our birch tree, while mommy dearest would yell at me to quickly button my winter coat. I’d build humongous forts with my oldest brothers, we would even have snowball fights until it was very much past our sleep time. Oh, how I miss the wonderful hours spent in the deep woods, where my imagination and soul flew out of my little child's body. Why, I could be a princess, escaping her medieval castle, with her beautiful gown of lavender and gold, running into the unknown to find her loving prince charming. Or sometimes, I was a brave woman Musketeer, with my hat made of felt and trimmed with an ostrich plume,  having her rapier by my side while riding a beautiful and fair black and white horse. I could even be a Fairy God-Mother, flying in the mystical enchanted forest with her bright colored butterfly wings, having magic dust and wand by hand. The imagination and wonder would make me feel so unconfined, so free, so unchained. 

Nevertheless, here we are again. In this sad and grimy old cabin, lost in the forest. Why, I'm nothing more than a friendless and poor eighty-two-year-old lady, who's been living alone for such a long time. My body has become so fragile and my bones so brittle and breakable, but the calling is unbearable. The calling has taken over the consciousness of my health and shaky figure.  Maybe just this once, just this one time, might it not hurt? Maybe, it will cure the loneliness in me, and bring up the light to the shallows and sorrows of my heart. Well, now I must. I cannot live like this any further. I'm ready for the unknown, for the mysteries and winter breeze, let the childlike soul in me burst out of this old rusty cage, and live freely again. The calling is now unbearable, almost feels like a temptation. But a good temptation, almost like a craving. Like how I crave my grandmother’s apple pie, or how I crave my mother’s chocolate crinkle cookies. I now must, I cannot live like this anymore, not any further. 

Glove by hand, boot by foot, scarf at the neck, long winter coat all buttoned up, and bonnet wrapping my long dull gray hair. 

Yes. It is time. I am ready now. 

As I open up the cabin door, my lungs fill up with the bitter cold and make my teeth shiver, a tingle of hope runs into my whole figure. The brightness of the snow slightly makes my eyelids squint. As I squint, I can see a clear picture of my head come to life; my six-year-old self has escaped from her dark dungeon and stepped into freedom. The winter air plays with my hair, the snow touches my cheek, in such a meek way. Maybe this wasn't a calling, was this a deep temptation? Maybe, all that my soul desired was the kiss of the nipping frost, the hug of the glacial colds, the joy of the fluffy snow falling from the skies. But this can’t be a temptation, this isn’t a bad thing, is it? Could temptation not always be such an underrated aspect? 

But what does that matter, suddenly, I'm a warrior of ancient Greece, defeating enemies in the deep woods. I’m the young Duchess of England, dancing at the annual ball ceremony, with a beautiful bright red ballgown. I am running with the cold winter wind, flying with freedom and liberty. Why, I’ve never felt this way is so long. The creaking rocking chair, the crackling logs of burning wood, the old creasing floors are now long lost. I've finally found the temptations and deep desires of my heart, please, oh please, may I stay as this winter hearted child forevermore. I’ve never felt this free, this young. My soul is flying, my hair is dancing, the bitter winter cold is bringing me to a new world, a new adventure. I am free. No longer slave to the lost cabin of the woods. I am a child again. How can I ever thank this calling, this unbearable yet desirable calling? I am so thankful, so blessed, so free. I am a child again.