In the bleak mid-winter

Frosty wind made moan,

Earth stood hard as iron,

Water like a stone;

Snow had fallen, snow on snow,

Snow on snow.... (Christina Rossetti, 1872)

                                                          ***

Evening: We sit down to meditate in the two-zabuton-wide alcove beneath the cold, west-facing window. There's a fire in the fireplace, but it's 18 degrees outside; to our many layers, we add a blanket each across our laps. Kem invites the bell to sound, and then we, too, are silent. A text comes in. Silence. My phone rings. Silence. Two more texts come in. Silence. We sit like mountains. Then our boys (29 of them) come thundering into the house from study hall, whooping and hollering: (another) snow day tomorrow! Obadiah barks excitedly, turns three times, settles. The apartment door is closed, so it's still quiet inside, but the quality of the silence is different; outside, it's noisy. We turn inward, then, attending to our breathing, our breath, and emptying the mind into the spaciousness of a vast, snowy field. Again, silence. The bell sounds. We bow deeply to deep peace.