Much has changed even since I started writing this post.
We stand on bare earth, mud and stone.
The snow solidifies to iced piles shrinking rapidly each day.
My heart races with the springtime, with the flight of birds, with the potential and urgency of movement.
We do not know what is going to come, but we know it will soon be here and we have to ride it.
I long for warm days and flowers, though I know something inside me will miss the long dark.
from a week ago:
Snow still falls and falls some more.
On sunny days we chop ice.
The days are gloriously longer, meaning we no longer wake nor come home in the dark.
With winter, with this long and endless winter,
each small gift is huge,
each bird song a whole field of flowers,
each extra minute of daylight like a week on a beach.
Now it rains.
Photos of ritual past, though presence still felt,
blessings still in process, lessons still learning.
Deep insightful conversations,
Magic fire,
Light but filling food,
Cold day warm hearts.
