sick of it

The river pauses, completely frozen over. It's just a chalky line separating the north and south banks, now, unable to rush anywhere. Every building sits in the pink late afternoon light exhaling puffs of purple steam as if exhausted by the effort of keeping all inhabitants warm. I put my hand up to the glass, feeling the tingling chill of that smooth surface. Birds, rodents, raccoons and squirrels must find ways of protecting themselves from the bitter drop in temperatures. But, not us. From Home to bus to pedway to office and back, I really don't have to be confronted by these elements if I don't care to be. How ancestors survived in such temperatures, how I might survive were life suddenly to be stripped of all modern convenience, that's not something I really have to think about much. My hand rests on the glass, less than an inch from the bitterest of temperatures, in warm safety.

The bus I ride to and from downtown everyday has plenty of windows to view the passing scene. But while they are wonderful for leaking out heat, lately they let in no clue of the world outside. A thick, grey crust of dried on road spray and puge has turned these windows into walls. Passengers ride along, listening to ipods, reading, chatting on phones, collectively ignoring each other. Confined into this space for up to an hour out of our day, we try not to stare. This is what life in the city has become - a self contained echo chamber of humanity staring at itself while all bouncing down the road of time. Our egos bump and grate and get in each other's way such that I must wonder if, in fact, humans were truly meant to live in such massive, tight proximity to one another. Outside temperatures drop below zero and such cold makes snapping, snarling sounds in tree branches. Outside is a diminishing nature where species die off unnoticed.

I think I'm sick of living in the city. I'm sick of living in a people-scape rather than a landscape. I'm sick of the collective attitude which pushes nature to the perimeter of life. The earth is not seen as something which sustains us at all. I see how she's framed as a backdrop to busyness and doing-ness. She's ignored, beaten down, indentifiable only as a pigeon, park squirrel, or something in the produce section.

And now, people are so MAD at nature. They're quite annoyed with winter's interruption to routine and human flow. How dare the snow. Below zero? How dare the cold! But in the piles of snow, encumbering body wrappings, slippery surfaces and crunching cold I hear what she's trying to say.

"Slow down, you go to fast. Stop and look, you never regard each step enough. Ask for help, it's too cold for you to think this can be marched through alone. Go within, you're always running out. It's ok to have a season of stopping. All creatures and creation take this time to rest. They live off stored wealth and prepare for another chance to grow. You are such a creation. Stop. Wait. Be still and know that 'I am'."

But we don't have that anymore. We neither listen nor entertain the proposal that life has a cycle to be honored. Our routine is conveniently shortened to a daily treadmill of tasks. Sick of it.