Since the ice began to thaw, there have been many sights to marvel at. I've included a few below. First, the ice that had kept me off my regular route for over a month was real, as you might imagine from this image:
Swans had been relegated to tiny pools of melted water, and boats were stuck in ice. I had left the treadmill as soon as it was possible to reach these views.
The wind has been pre-gale force: warranting the one red pennant that would warn small vessels from setting out, as if they could. I learned something from those birds that somehow remained in flight during these blustery days: they also struggle, but convey something of the normalcy of the intense effort required at challenging times. The activity of birds can reaffirm the importance of conviction.
And there was a certain silence afforded by the fact that over half of the water mass was ice-bound. The birds seemed to rejoice in new air routes. It was interesting to think of what happens when just one part of the picture becomes stationary. But, in human terms, many objects (including little cafes) had become ensconced by the ice, and damaged.
A few days later, a project began to free the few remaining floating vessels from the ice. Gymnastic feats were required.
It was at this time that it became clearer than ever that I, through inner weakness or a cartoonish need for allegory, "have to" go through the motions of endurance to understand what is basic to the birds, and to so many people.
In fact, many closest to me in my life, who I am so thankful for, stoically reveal their powers of endurance every day, without having to run twenty plus miles. But I need to go through those motions: to see the birds doing it, see the people freeing other people's boats doing it.
Brush in images: misprinted type.