“Memory is the power to gather roses in winter.” — Anonymous

If I were to have a theme or a premise for this first month of the New Year, this quote would capture it. I would use “winter” as an exact place, however: It would be, for me, the season of coldness and barrenness, a season to reflect.

I suppose reflection can be expected when the January landscape becomes monochromatic and stark and the bold and blusterous arctic wind sometimes knocks at the door, when nature is vulnerable and exposed and yesterday occupies my thoughts, all the while realizing today will soon be a “yesterday.” Like this nameless quote, I do, metaphorically, think of “roses” in winter; they are the memories of the  good days I have spent with my mother and light conversations at the kitchen table with my dad, feelings from long ago that time has worked its magic on and are now so perfectly sculpted and remembered with warmth and comfort.

These are elusive feelings that seem to only visit me in January and vanish as quickly, at the first sense of balmy sunbeams, for then, I become distracted. Then, there is the garden to keep, the beach to walk on, the stars in the summer sky to ponder, the eggs to gather and, of course, the roses to cut. But now, in the dead of winter when there is little to do in the garden but turn a scoop of rich dirt over now and then for my lazy hens to discover an earthworm or sit on my garden bench beneath the barren trees on a mild day and plan for spring, I see the starkness and vulnerability of nature and am, once again, reminded of how fragile it all is and how delicately balanced and orchestrated life is. I wonder, how can anyone really think that anything is by chance?

For me, it all seems an intriguing symphony – winter into spring, youth into old age, cycling again and again as we watch and perform, all the while trying to answer the same Platonic questions, never fully understanding, only knowing that all we can be certain of is that, like the seasons, things will change.

Next January will be different from this one; life will not hold still, it will move on and it will do this with or without my participation or consent and the memories being made will, once again, be the roses I pick in winter. I hope to be included in many more January symphonies; for it holds much beauty there amongst the sometimes desolate landscape.  

It is in that simplicity that we are able to see the red cardinal on the naked branch and the narcissus gallantly popping up from the cold earth.

They are there braving the cold and cycling through this season of harshness knowing that there will be a spring in which to flourish. I will reflect and observe and gather roses in winter and when spring comes, I will, like the narcissus bulb, be renewed and ready to follow the sunshine, planting more roses for next winter. In the meantime, I will enjoy this stillness of winter that brings me closer to my memories.

PAM SHENSKY is married, the mother of five and a teacher at New Iberia Senior High.