The Lantern in Winter

A snowy walk to the light

When I found the cottage on my winter hike, I never imagined I would find myself there.

I went for a winter hike after an overnight delight of a lovely snowfall. The air was clean, crisp, and calm. I met a bird along the way, a robin, unusual for this time of year in my location. It was a curious and happy companion as I made my way down the trail. I came upon a cottage after crossing through a clearing. I believe this encounter was by design, not accident. I believe in guided paths, you see.

The robin, the snow, the scent of the wood fire, the path through the woods, they all led me there to the not so chance meeting. I recognized the voice when I knocked and they said, “come in”. I was certain it was her. She’d been gone many years, 19 to be exact. I struggled with our relationship then and I continue to struggle with it now. I entered to the warmth of the cozy cottage and smell of coffee to see her sitting there. Quietly gazing through the window to the snowy meadow with the dried patches of wildflowers taking in the flakes. Holding those flakes like shimmering little stars as the sun catches them. Quietly breathing in and out with ease, not like I remembered with the short and huffy outbreaths. Always a criticism, a harshness. She seemed approachable, peaceful, and even welcoming.

Is this my opportunity? Is this what I’ve been guided to experience? Is this the time to ask the burning question?

I move slowly and cautiously toward the small wooden chair at the round table by the window. She invites me to sit down, just by a hand gesture, still breathing in and out with ease. She takes a sip of her coffee and pours me a cup in a mug I remember from my youth. Memories start flooding in. Strong, hurtful, and pointed memories. My mind and body start to tighten up and prepare to fend off the arrows that I anticipate. Something is coming.

She looks up. Her eyes are clear and bright. Her face is softened. She gently clears her throat and says, “I can see you now. I’m sorry I never could see you before and all I could do was push you away, but can see you now.” She returns her gaze to the snowy meadow, takes a sip of coffee, a deep breath, and sits quietly.

My face is no longer cold from the outdoors. My breath has stopped. My body is armored. I sit there watching and waiting for the ‘but’ to come. It doesn’t come. She sits there calmly and quietly and turns again toward me, looking directly in my tear-filled eyes and says, “I’m sorry.”

I finally take a breath releasing a quiet sigh. My shoulders relax and I can feel my heart pounding in my chest. I raise my hands to my heart and gently cross them over my chest and continue to breathe. The tears are dropping from my eyes onto my handknit scarf that she made for me so many years ago. I try to speak, and no words come out. I press my hands into my heart tighter and focus on my breath. It is slowing down, my heart, and I gain my voice. My mind is blank, which never happens. My question, I need to ask my question, I scream to myself inside my mind. Another voice inside says, “do you?” Hasn’t she just answered it?” But don’t I still need to ask it and have her answer it out loud? Don’t I need to confront her while I have the chance? That voice asks me, “do you?”

I sit there contemplating and reviewing the options in my mind with the internal voices. The angry one, the compassionate one, the reasonable one, the stoic one, the warrior one, and the one who has worked so hard over the long years to make sense of the challenging relationship and long for the day when she would truly notice me and want me. Maybe this was that day and her way. Maybe this was the answer to the question I’ve longed to know since I could remember.

My breathing slows and I can recognize it flows in and out with ease. My heart is not pounding. My armor has melted away. My warrior has laid down her sword. I can see the same snowy meadow with the dried wildflowers cradling the snow. I can sip the same coffee from the familiar cup. I can say to her, “thank you” and I can move on.

I leave the cottage, gently closing the door. I walk back through the snowy woods listening to the crunch under my boots. I feel the coldness freezing my nostrils inside and out making my way back to my cabin. And I breathe with ease.

Photo by Nikola Johnny Mirkovic on Unsplash