Clunky thuds sound under the hopeful hammer of a woodpecker, frozen box elder bugs in beak’s reach. The birds are masters at winter living, masticated ice crystals keep them hydrated, downy air pillows under pine needles layer warmth; always busy these birds.

Mild days by his standard follow a surprisingly sustained bitter cold and snowfall that threatened early, penetrating the deep south, challenging many who are unaccustomed to the technology of layering, neck wrapping, stacking toboggan caps and fingerless woolen gloves under suede choppers.

Is it rectitude that initiates an ability to manage the grueling cold days of winter? Are the associated blue skies, as day’s length in slow ascent a helpful exchange? Does an opportunity for sleep warrant a healthier soul?

It is the depth of one’s breath, practiced patience, and focus that provides the meditative state necessary for winter’s survival. Like antifreeze, it runs within the entrails, circulating warmth, sustaining hibernation, until, inevitably, the longer days warm the air making habitable life again.