From the Cinders

One of the nice things about my wee house is that it is a short walk to another friend's house, up and down some hills, but just about a mile away (much closer as the crow flies) and a pleasant walk. I like living in a neighborhood where I know friends are near. In the opposite direction, another friend has moved in. Today my friend walked over with her little dog and we had tea and talked. I loved to see her face light up with laughter. My child snored from his back bedroom and her small white dog whimpered, wanting to see him.

It's sunny today and believe or not, little shoots are pushing out of the ground, the tentative green a purely happy sight. I believe (for right now) that everything in life is going to work out.

Quite a few years ago now, I had a friend whose house caught on fire. She brought me to the house to witness the destruction. My heart caught in my neck and when I saw her melted bed frame, I started to cry. I don't think I had any idea of the ravages a fire brings, melting and destroying literally everything. As a positive I tried to focus on the idea of fire as rebirth. The images are out there, namely that Phoenix. I'm not sure that anyone who is dealing with the aftermath of having all her possessions destroyed can rightly imagine life as Phoenix. But the fact of the matter is having things reduced to ashes forces a person to rebuild. There are choices to be made consciously that were made unconsciously the first time around. If I had had my forehead smeared this year on Ash Wednesday with those symbolic ashes, I might have come to this conclusion sooner and more peacefully.

I wonder if a cold frozen winter is like fire in some ways. Everything taken to the ground, burned off by ice and snow. In January when I fell at my lowest of the low, I hoped that spring would be an apt metaphor for me. I'm not sure yet if it is, but it helps to see the snowdrops pearling out of the ground, the sap running in maple trees, and warm enough weather to bring friends to my door.