“ It is the life of the crystal, the architect of the flake, the fire of the frost, the soul of the sunbeam. The crisp winter air is full of it.” – John Burroughs
The sound of the city, the siren, makes its presence known no matter how sacred the day – my garlands of glitter and pinecone offerings no match for the reality of modern day city living. It seems that life goes on, no matter what…
A recent note from the stone house that hides its true form (it’s a farm!) in its heart has me dreaming of the wild – I’m left wanting to fall asleep with the window open to the crisp air, the only light leaking in to be from the clear, bright stars above or the silver crescent of the winter moon. To hear the resident Screech owl and the haunting sound of yipping coyotes as they pass by sharing secrets beyond human ken but nevertheless reminding me of my true nature caged by cement and longing.
There is still beauty to be had here among the rain-washed buildings and bustling streets. In fact, only a week or two ago, another light snowfall fell making spirits bright, smiles were freely given and strangers found themselves becoming friends, bells could be heard ringing from the church downtown and with a hush in the air, magic came to lay down its shaggy head.
In between delicious bites of the season our long walks in the park have gifted us with the delicate beauty of a single white snowdrop nestled upon the dark soil of its own micro-climate. The sweet scent of green tickled our nostrils as we came across a patch of blooming heather, the tiny white flowers open to the warm sun on a day stolen from summer. Not too far away, the bright yellow of a brave dandelion waved hello beneath a small grove of bare trees.
No matter the weather, it’s the generous spirits and wild hearts that colour our days, ushering us into a brand new year full of possibility, life’s most exquisite gift to us, given freely after every trip around the sun!