Self-Preservation - Jan 16 2024

 

Self-Preservation

Jan 16 2024

The holidays are over.

Wrapping paper thrown away

decorations stored.

Some toys

have already been broken,

unwanted clothes returned.

Books

barely opened

have been quietly shelved.

The lovely Christmas trees

that so excited the kids

sit by the curb

where salt-stained driveways end.

They seem to shiver in the cold,

marooned in city snow

and stripped of festive trim.

Needles are shedding in bunches,

broken branches stick out.

Evergreens

reduced to kindling;

firetraps

set to be picked-up and chipped

and reincarnated

as bags of rich black compost.

So life has slowed.

And the bitter chill

that came with the new year

has kept us indoors;

the dense arctic air

that settled like a heavy weight

isn't going anywhere.

I like this weather.

Metabolism slows,

dormancy saves,

organic matter is preserved.

You keep, in the cold.

And events

which have been racing out of control

   —  sped up and compressed

      as modern life

      gets more and more frenetic   —

seem less rat-a-tat and random

easier to manage.

Inside, where it's warm.

The fire stoked

and the smell of home-cooking,

snoozing dogs

sprawled out by the hearth.

Not that the wars don't go on

the climate isn't changing.

Not that unworthy men

aren't still grasping for office,

democracy under threat.

But what difference

if I do or don't pay attention?

If, in this merciful cold

I permit myself a brief interregnum

of cozy domesticity?

If I slow down

and husband my energy?

Save my sanity?

Preserve some peace of mind?