Shadow Over America

Inauguration Day and the cold days ahead

Photo by Stephen Leonardi

Days after the 2024 election, I watched a heavy snow fall over my neighborhood. A season of change had blown in from the north, and the cold wind had not only settled on my street, it had stormed into my psyche. Now, with Inauguration Day here, I revisit what I wrote back then, believing it remains poignant to this moment.

The essay from late November is below. I feel the very same way today.

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The Coming of Winter

(First published on November 22, 2024)

I have awakened to snow. Tiny prisms of white dancing across a yellow maple that has refused to let go of autumn. The starkness of the morning combined with the golden leaves, now muted by the season, gives me pause. Not only was it beautiful in its unique contrast, but it seemed a metaphor for where the world sits.

We are watching a season meant for contemplation be roughly and unkindly pushed into the next—a season devoid of prospects, a season of darkness. Yet, winter is also the season that symbolizes the liminal space between the old year and the new, between the “then” and the “to be,” between darkness and the inevitable return of spring light.

We have suffered through a vengeful year, politics eating away at an American fabric. What we’ve been taught as children—respect, don’t lie, be kind, do for others—has been replaced with power and authority, arrogance and callousness, a lack of justice. Autumn offered hope. Hope was dashed. Winter is arriving. And so we now begin what we pray will be the slow march out of the dark.

I watch the snow from the front porch, a bitter chill keeps it brief. But little time is needed to know that a season is now gone, maybe not officially but nonetheless a time has passed, and an ominous future lies ahead. Just like every winter when we wonder how cold and snowy it will get; just like when we expect the worst and hope for something better. And just like every winter this one arrives with a kind of anticipated force, proving, no matter how hard you brace for it, that a change in season can overtake and overwhelm us.

Unless.

Unless you remember in winter’s sleep, new seeds are being born deep below ground. Life goes on far under the frozen white, and newness and freshness awaits. Something brews under the earth.

This is how I care to see the coming of winter and the world right now. One of seasonal shifts. I only hope the winter will not be long, and the light of a new season’s sun will give nourishment to something bolder, newer, more just.

Still, throw another log on the fire. We may need it.

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David W. Berner is the author of several books of award-winning fiction and memoir. His latest, Daylight Saving Time: The power of growing older is available now. His debut poetry collection, Garden Tools is due out in October, 2025 from Finishing Line Press. His novella, American Moon will be published by Regal House Publishing in 2026.