The Stillness Of Winter

The Stillness of Winter

John Paul Derryberry

I stand at the entrance to one of the many trails that weave through Lime Creek Nature Center. Light snow floats around me before landing on the ground. With every flake landing on the ground, more and more sound is absorbed, and the world becomes quieter. The temperature is somewhere in the 20s and almost all the holiday hustle and bustle is behind me. The long winter months lie ahead, and I hit the button on my watch to start my run. My breath becomes visible upon exhale, and while I'm moving faster, everything else around me is hunkered down and still for winter.

I find comfort in this part of winter. We live in a society where everything must go faster. We are always off to the next thing. Maybe that's why we struggled so much with a pandemic and quarantining. For as long as I can remember, it was about what's next. Finish high school; then it has to be off to college, trade school, or the military. We spend so much of our time moving to distract ourselves. Winter forces us to be still with our thoughts and our actions. Move too quick on a snowy or icy patch, and you find yourself on the ground real quick.

As I round the bend on the path, a small lake that is usually bustling with action lies dormant. The stretch of below-freezing temperatures has frozen the water. It sits in a state making most of our skin crawl, waiting. We wait for the pandemic to be over, wait for the next promotion, or wait for the next milestone, instead of attempting to find comfort in the quiet stillness.  We fester, bluster, and create a mess to have a distraction from our emotions and thoughts.

I've traversed to the back of the park by now, and the only two noises I can make out are the faint sound of a train in the distance and my breath coming heavier than when I started. My mind wanders to what could be next for my family, relationships, or career, but I quickly refocus on where I'm at today. Its infinite possibilities hide the future, so I force my mind back on my family, friends, and adventures up till now. They have been great: great fun, great joy, great sadness, and everything in between.

I'm in the stretch run. The snow flurries still fall, creating a beautiful scene to run through. The stillness of the winter, the flurries' movement, and my final kick all culminate in a peaceful calm washing over me. Life will come again. I may not know what it will look like. I may not get to see as much of it as I would like, but I have learned the beauty of the stillness. We'd all do better to slow down enough to enjoy it all but keep moving to see what's around that next corner.