I live just south of Canada, where every fall, the wind knifes the trees making the leaves bleed.
They die and drop quickly leaving a million naked branches crossed like a chainlink fence against the milky sky.
Then the white overhead starts to break up and fall on empty flower pots and cars that sit outside because they leak oil.
I usually forget to lift my wiper blades and disconnect my battery so the incontinent car gives up the ghost.
Once we drove to Arizona in the middle of winter. I thought if I saw a cactus and some sand, I’d forget about the dead trees and cars.
But after we were there a few days we got stuck behind a snow plow. Turns out the weather from up north had been tailing us the whole way.
I used to think if I looked enough, I’d find a place where trees don’t bleed and shed their clothes. And cars don’t freeze to death.
But I’ve come to realize I don’t have to run from the cold, because I can build fires and replace batteries. And water the plant that sits under my window.
In the same way there is no need to run in fear. It don’t have to go off and seek a new scenario because the life of God in me can transform the current one.