While it may be flinty and steely, the sun is shining in the morning despite temperatures in the single digits and wind chill that makes it feel as though it were WAY below zero. The ice on the Wissahickon creek has not covered the top, and the insistence of the flow of water reminds me that life is still pulsing and throbbing just beneath the surface of our wintry cover. Although the benches are still resting places only for snow, the warmth of the sun is palpable in the afternoons when it streams in my windows or when I am outside wrapped in its abundance. 
Spring is coming. Just listen to the chilly chirps, the cracking ice, the trickling water. There is s bubbling energy that hums beneath my feet as I shuffle over the frozen surface and through the crisp, dry snow. There are muffled sounds that can only be harbingers of birdsong. 
Last night I had a dream about a rabbit who was way up in the branches of a frozen tree, and I could see him from my second story window; he was hanging by his ears and wiggling his nose at me as if to entice me with the living presence of his furry being in a place above his terrestrial home, beckoning, beckoning to me, showing me that even he, this little wriggly fur ball, could clamber up into the safety of high places to promise the gentle sturdinessof the natural, living world.I can wait.
