the night is cold and clear

The wind whipped the girl’s hair around her face as the metro train sped away. She followed her friends onto the escalator and rode it up. A thrill zipped through her and she pulled her coat closer as she stepped out into the clear, crisp night air.
The group hiked briskly down the capitol mall, more to keep warm than to keep a specific time. Their shadows rotated around them as they passed street lamp after street lamp. They paused for a moment by the Washington monument.
The girl edged up to the fence to get as close as she could. She remembered when she could go right up to the monument and stand with her toes touching the foundation and her chin resting on its smooth, cold surface. But now, after the recent earthquake, she had to stand a few yards away.
Even at this distance, she had to drop her head back as far as she could to look all the way to the top. The towering white monolith pierced the navy depths of the sky. The contrast of the marble against the dark sky, and the sheer massiveness of the structure, struck a quiet awe in her.
“Thinking of how a moment could crack something so huge makes you think about how nothing on earth is really unshakeable,” one of her friends said.
The rest of the group murmured in quiet agreement and continued down the mall.
Unshakeable, she thought, ¬everything ends.
She inhaled, filling her lungs with as much of the cold night air as she could. Then she slowly let it out, and watched the puff of steam fade into the night. She did it again. And again. Each puff of steam faded quickly – she barely had time to even contemplate its existence before it dissolved into the darkness.
“Man is like a breath; his days are like a passing shadow.” [Psalms 144:4]
She breathed out one more time, slowly, trying to make the steam last as long as possible. But even with all her efforts, it did not last more than two seconds. It was a sobering result, and she stopped walking and watched the last particles of breath, like her life, fade away. A sober terror rooted in her heart. She could not afford to waste time. There was not enough of it.
The group paused for a while at the World War II monument, its majestic fountains shooting up towards the sky. She sat down on one of the benches near the fountains. She looked up at the moon and stars. As she did, certain names, faces, and voices came to mind, and she thought of those evenings they spent laying on their backs, stargazing, laughing and talking, simply existing in the joy and security of each other’s company. She suddenly wanted to be with them more than anything in the world. “Soon,” she whispered, so quietly she and God were the only ones who could hear.
She tore her eyes away from the starry sky, plunged her cold hands deeper into her pockets, and continued down the mall, her eyes on her converses. She set her jaw and tried to put down the fierce longing that had suddenly risen within her. The sudden explosion of emotion had surprised her, her eyes began to sting, and she focused resolutely on taming her excited heart back into submission.
The small group finally reached the edge of the Potomac, and she sat down on the retaining wall and hung her feet over the edge. The smooth surface of the river reflected the glowing monuments on its banks perfectly, disguising the watery blackness underneath in a thin lacquer of shimmering light. What if she could plumb its clear, black depths? What would she find there? She gazed thoughtfully at the black water rippling below her feet. She had the strangest urge to dive in and discover what mysteries lay beneath. Perhaps, she thought, she would discover something about her own soul, to which the deep, unfathomable water bore a startling resemblance.
She took a slow, deep breath. Her soul grew still, as the chill air slowed all the raging emotions within her. Soon, it became still enough to be reflective. She stepped back to see what she could observe mirrored on its finally calm surface. She sat there quietly for a long time, trying to organize her thoughts into some sort of discernable order.
Something disturbed the surface of the water, the ripples temporarily disturbing the smooth reflections on its face. She pondered how the movements that touched the outside made the most visible impact, but the things that really changed the nature of the water started down in the depths, and moved invisibly until it affected the whole body.
When it was finally time to leave, she walked quietly behind the rest of the group for a time. Even after one of her friends stepped back and engaged her in conversation, her voice was low, her speech slow. The stillness of the night had sunk deep into her heart and stayed there. She still couldn’t claim to understand herself, any more than she could claim to know what lay beneath the cold, black waters of the Potomac. But she could rest in the understanding that the same Father who had created and knew every last dark corner of the river, also had formed and understood the contours of her soul.
All she had to do was be still, and know that He is God.