The days here are lengthening, and (as the old wisdom proves true) the cold is strengthening here in southern New England. Luna and I walked under a bright sun yesterday, and still, the air hurt my face (the only part of me un-bundled.)
It is six degrees Fahrenheit where I live at this moment; that is the actual temperature. By Saturday the “feels like” temperature will range from negative eleven to plus five. This weather means business. It is hard on any creature not furred, feathered, or fattened to withstand such temperatures. Human beings working, or forced through life circumstances to be out in it for any length of time without shelter, will struggle and suffer in it. The unhoused will need refuge.
My gardens are locked in stillness now; their roots frozen in the soil, their lower stems surrounded by snow made ice by the extreme temperatures. The tree branches rock in arctic gusts, older and brittler ones snapping and dropping to the snow pack like gifts of kindling for the wood stove, where the two and four legged members of my household like to sit and bask.
Inside the house, roasted, then frozen, and now thawed, pumpkin puree waits to become a bread of fragrant spices, nuts, and raisins. Luna and I are in our writing spot. I am typing, deleting, editing, whispering words softly to myself, and sipping hot coffee. Luna is resting, though her ears have their own life, twisting, perking up, relaxing down, as my husband and the cat move through their own spaces.
Today I will begin the process of opening accounts and transferring money to a local credit union and away from a bank I have learned is financing detention centers. I would like my money to be put to life-giving use. We do what we can.
I will bake pumpkin bread, one for us, one to share. We do what we can.
I will start the seeds of micro greens and sprouts on my kitchen counter; more than enough to share with the beloved who shared soup with me last week. We take care of one another.
I will call Congress yet again and ask them to do what they can to protect our sister and brothers from our own government’s violence.
“The old world is dying and the new world struggles to be born. Now is the time of monsters.” - Antonio Gramsci
Those words were written by a political prisoner in Italy in the 1930’s as an earlier generation of fascists were emerging in Europe. Gramsci was speaking about what cruel energies can thrive in the liminal spaces and times as what was crumbles, and what will be has not formed.
He was right about the monsters; then and now, they stomp and strut about, causing much suffering and pain while they bellow and bully.
I haven’t read enough to know whether he also saw kindness, or goodness, or quiet courage as it began to stir. I don’t know if he wrote about people helping others, people refusing to become evil when confronted with it.
I know that I see it now. I see it, and I bless it.
Courage my dears. Do what you can. Love one another.
