Thaw

It seems a little ironic, I suppose, that as the temperatures are dropping I finally feel myself starting to thaw, but there you have it.

It started Sunday, with a call from S. who had “decided” it would be entirely reasonable to raise enough money and manage the logistics of bringing two buses full of marginalized youth from New England to DC for the Women’s March on Washington. His enthusiasm and confidence are always infectious. I knew to expect that. Still, the radiant warmth of his convictions melted the miles between us and my frozen heart along with them.

Thaw a little bit.

The next night, his former teacher wept tears of proud joy when she read his plans. The women assembled in her living room clapped and cheered, offering beds, floors, food, coats. Whatever was needed, whatever was asked. “We got this,” they said warmly.

Thaw a little more.

Two nights ago, R. shared the students’ plans with a group of similarly-energized folk, mentioning the request for donations of winter clothes for the aspiring activists. A woman handed over the coat off her own back. Literally.

Thaw some more.

Camus wrote, “In the midst of winter, I found there was, within me, an invincible summer.” Yes, and. I would put it this way:

In the mist of winter, I found there was, around me, an invincible summer.