The snow arrived early this year. I walk out to my meditation corner in the beginning hours of morning. The snow and ice crunch beneath my feet with each step like a rude awakening; a kind of 'tough love' gesture from the Great Mother that tells me: maybe I shouldn't have procrastinated in switching out my lawnmower for my snow shovels, which are currently lying up in the rafters of my shed. If only I had listened to the howling north wind last week, as he was proclaiming Winter's approaching, imminent birth.
we hold our breath
for a colour
As I sit and drink my tea, staring at the winter wonderland that now engulfs my world, my initial shock and inner resistance slowly begins to dissipate, and in its place, I am aware of the magic that arrives when the thermometer plummets to the minus double-digits.
a forest stroll
in new boots
The news of my friend's sudden passing a couple weeks ago creeps back into the echoes of my mind. She loved snow and the outdoors. And she loved this time of year, decorating and crafting for the season. Her flair for interior decorating would rival any professional whose photos land in leading magazines. She was truly a goddess of domestic arts.
in the window
Another echo breaks into this silent space as I hear her voice and take another drawn out sip of my tea, the steam rising like a ghost. If only I had known… I sit and stare at the blank spot against my house where my shovels usually stand. Unprepared for the sudden change of my world, I ask, "Why couldn't the snow have waited one more night?"
waking me up