We sat by the door in the penultimate car -- the last car was open to the air, with wooden benches. Though I had bundled up more than usual, five minutes outside bounding along at twenty miles per hour was more than enough. A steady stream of passengers marched to and from that outside car. Sitting by the heavy and hard to close door let in quite a bit of fresh, frozen air.
I was subdued on the journey, with several things in my head. One was a snippet of Hebrew poetry -- Psalm 2: 8.
Watching the river where I'd almost drowned seven years ago, I wondered what it would be like to hibernate, to throw my body down into the river, to allow my blood to slow within and to be frozen into a man-sized block of ice.
While small pieces of ice float downstream even in dark December, the spring thaws always come. Would it be permissible to sleep through the death, the descent of Persephone, and to awake, revived and restored (as the earth itself) in body and in spirit?