Snow on the Woodpile

"My own life is all I can hope to control.
Let my life bring peace to my soul." - Tom Paxton

A cold rain had been coming down all morning. The tree branches were hanging low with leftover ice and the ground was a mix of melting snow and dead grass. The sky was overcast and dim with no promise of sun or warmth and we were getting ready to drive upstate for a folk concert and a night in an old bed and breakfast inn. Music and a winter's drive along the Maine coast were calling. I could almost see the deserted beaches at low tide, could almost smell the ocean. We would eat along the way and stop at Portland Head so I could photograph the lighthouse. Winter brings a sense of beauty and desolation to the New England coastline like no other season.

When the 'phone rang, I answered without thinking, my mind lost in images of waves crashing onto rocks, ships fighting the seas, deserted breakwaters silouhetted against dark skies. A voice, familiar but one I hadn't heard in years, said my name and then Your mother died last night. When I said nothing, he went on, The funeral is Tuesday. Will you come?

The rain had stopped and I thought the sky was lightening just a little, as if a rainbow might appear.
In front of the wood stove, the dogs stirred and I could hear my husband whistling from outside. I stood with the 'phone to my ear and a dishtowel in my hand, looking around the cabin as if it were a new and strange landscape but filled with the old and ordinary things that make up a life. I could see the woodpile from the window, still piled high and tinged with snow. There were squirrels at the feeder on the deck and dogs barking somewhere in the distance. Spring was still a long way off but it would come, a new season with new promises and new life, a season of second chances and peace of mind, of resolution and hope.

Will you come? he asked again. No, I said finally, I'm sorry, but no, and I hung up the 'phone. It was over and I was up to my elbows in relief and gratitude. My husband came in, arms filled with wood for the stove and said Who was that on the 'phone? I hung up the dishtowel and reached for my jacket and gloves, checked the lock on the back door and said Wrong number.