I really do like winter. A time to snuggle up, hunker down and pull inward. I recently told a friend who adores summer and detests bundling up in winter that it may have something to do with the season in which we are born. I am a January baby and she celebrates in June.
Sometimes the lack of access to sunshine can be diminishing, but talking a brisk walk in the sun can be so recharging ... for me, anyway. I remember always feeling so alive in college when walking to and from class (or the local watering hole) layered with rosy cheeks. I am rediscovering that joy this season as I trek back and forth daily to the small office/former storage area I bummed off my husband two blocks from our house.
It also helps that I have live green things (herbs) growing in my sunniest window and just started some microgreens. They are thriving next to the spot where the cats often settle for a warm nap.
I have an appreciation for what goes on underneath that seemingly sleepy state of hibernation. Even though most trees have lost their leaves, I sense the energy that’s been sucked inside and focused toward the roots. That stillness reminds me of the Sundays I worship in silence or the times I meditate or practice centering prayer. My mind and body are quieted, yet so many things are happening gently and deeply. Shiftings of which I am barely aware, but try to trust.
I like the idea of roots and wings; being grounded, yet also ethereal and free to change or go wherever one is led. Winter seems the season of roots, centering life more intimately on family and close friends. For me, it’s also a time of more reflection – perhaps a reaction to the over busyness of the blurred holidays.
This annual cold spell reminds me of “emptying” spiritual practices and the season of desolation. Winter strikes me as emptying and desolate, yet not devoid of Spirit.
• What season speaks most to me?
• What is the spiritual correlation to that season?
• What nurtures my reflective nature?
• Do I ever take a more restful time, a time to hibernate?
• Do I notice that I have cycles, perhaps corresponding to seasons, of activity and inactivity?
the sharp wind
frosts my cheeks,
fills them with redness
I see beyond the
bleak, monotone landscape,
out of that
stillness, a lone
as if to remind
me that after
spring will return