A Season For Cats

The hot water splashed across my hands and up my sleeve, leaving a trail of regret. No matter how careful I am my coordination has never been quite right, making even the simplest of tasks a challenge. I hoist the buckets of warm mash from the feed room sink. Thankfully, strength is on my side today. Maybe there will be enough left to do more than just feed. I can hear the nagging of incomplete projects grumbling in my productive mind and I think of how nice it would be to silence them. 

I thrust open the large door, ready to brave the dark world beyond. It opens a crack as a gust of icy wind slides past me. Shoving the large door with my hip, I force it past the most recent frost heave and meet the bitter morning head-on. Chilled air bites at my cheeks, but that offense is much easier to ignore than the relentless nipping at my hands. 

For as long as I can remember, the deepest freeze of winter has always been the first two weeks of February. The world’s way of reminding us one last time how cold it can get before releasing us into the gentle hands of spring. 
Reluctant to leave the comforts of their shelter, the horses wait for the troughs to be filled with the mixture of grass pellets and hot water. Even they don’t want to come out today until it’s necessary. 

Punkin tiptoes over the hardened ground, leary of the icy patches. Tonka cuts in front using the pony-sized trail he blazed himself. Punkin pins her ears with a glare but doesn’t race to beat the budging pony. 

My hands continue to freeze as the chores progress. Digging for the strength to ignore the pain that seeps into my bones I finish my tasks and return to the warmth of the house. Removing the excess clothing one layer at time adds more strain to the daily energy tax, leaving the bank drained. The grumblings of incomplete projects will not be silenced today. 

Running into the comforting arms of food and letting myself to surrender to the trap of winter is a constant temptation, but I know that comfort is only momentary and would stall my progress when spring arrives with her long lists of crucial tasks. Resistance now is the price I pay for the ability to keep up int he active months. 

There are other comforts of winter, I remind myself. The comforts of hot tea by the fire and the cuddles of soft furred cats as they curl into the ambient warmth. The lap blanket I made from driving the pony that when draped over me fills my imagination with the possibilities of the futures. This is where I find my strength in the tranquil actions of the season of rest. 

I remind myself that I only think of life as linear because I choose to the see things in straight lines crossing zing off the days of the calendar one after another. In truth life is circular and as we make our way around the circle of the year, our energy and ambition following the seasons. “This is the season of rest” I tell the grumblings of unfinished projects as I let go of the guilt and curl up with my books and my cats.