The winter and me are well suited for one another. Contemplative. Brooding. A bit melancholy, but brutally honest, and crystal clear with our intention!
The gentle, yet relentless snowfall outside my window is mesmerizing; like a perpetual snowglobe! Magic!! My breath fogs up the pane as I stare, expectantly, out the window like a small child waiting to catch a glimpse of Santa and his reindeer on Christmas Eve. The gliding, shimmering flakes of white; a serene, captivating, winter wonderland.
Yet, it is not Santa that I seek. It is my own fragile, ghostly image.
I think winter speaks to me because I am cracked and broken; like shards of icicles, pieces of me that have sheared off and shattered to the ground. My body creaks, and moans; rattling in it's cage like branches set reluctantly free from their leaves.
In the harsh warmth of the sun, my rough edges melted; liquefying my insides; making it impossible to put things back into their proper place.
Now, the vast, wintery, harsh cold is melding all those pieces of who I am meant to be, back together...an imperfect fit. Cracks and fissures showing, but, whole...It's been some time since I felt so solid.
Here, with the elements banging at my door; entreating me to dive into their mystical, carnivorous depths...this, this is living. Encapsulated in the death of the season, I am vibrantly, alive. I have caught glimpses of this version of myself on my travels to windswept vistas, or as I traversed inclement marshes; buffeted by rain, sleet and snow...but those were only glimpses of my true nature. Healing journeys, yes, but not lastingly so.
Here, in this mountainous winter region, I can feel myself planting roots in the earth; hard-packed, frozen, snow-covered earth. The difficulty of planting making it all the more precious. The seeds of this ethereal garden are smothered, blanketed, awaiting spring, but I do not want that season to hurry in it's blooming. In fact, I would put off spring until next year, if I thought the nature spirits would allow me control of that fate...;-)
The winter and me, we are just getting reacquainted. And, I want to wallow in the snow for a bit; capturing fluffy white clouds, burying myself, absorbing the muffled, peaceful quiet of the frost-bitten season.
Spring will come soon enough. Plants will grow. And, I will re-emerge from my hibernating space,and my snow angel, impermanently imprinted on the frosty surface, will thaw long before then...
Yet, leave an impression on winter?....I will...