Not because it affords me the opportunity to strap skies to my feet and hurtle down hills … that is not a thing I particularly enjoy, though I know and understand many people do.
I simply love winter for winter’s sake.
What is the sake of winter?
Well, this is where I get rather impassioned.
Winter is a time of intense preparation– it is a time of behind-the-scenes miracle working, when marvels are happening unbeknownst or at least unconsidered by those rushing by to get into warmer places.
Where, in spring, flowers burst forth into sweet, tender, temporal beauties …
Where leaf and fruit flourished so visibly, so deliciously in summer …
Where, in autumn, the fruit is harvested and the leaves drop with abandon onto the chilly, dewy ground.
Here, in winter, much is happening – deep and unseen beneath the surface. Tiny work is being done, microscopic developments, alterations and preparations moving forward in an inevitable march toward the surface…
Here hope inches outward preparing for an unseen, undetermined date when it shall burst forth heralding another spring.
Winter is the beginning … not the end of the seasonal chain.
Motherhood feels very much like my creative winter … I had to let go the fruits, the leaves, the before things, the before self …
I was left to nurture the seeds under my care, and in doing so I was called upon to use up great stores of myself. In the absence of time, the absence of energy, the absence of personal space …I moved forward, inching toward something, some “time” when … I didn’t know what but it is a thing wrapped in a hope clothed in a dream. I feel it just there on the other side…fingers splayed out against the barrier between.
Don’t get me wrong, winter can be bitter, and biting, and bracing. There are long, long nights, and short bursts of light … but the days go by.
Winter also changes things along the way. Breaks away the dead and weak branches … digs deep into the ground for fresh water, rich nutrients … repairs the open wounds. It can hurt but ultimately it is the beginning of something afresh. It doesn’t rebuild itself completely, the tree retains its character, but it is pulled up taller, pushed further down, stretched wide and all the while those seeds are inching their way toward the surface … forming buds which dream of fruit, and soft ground.
Winter … it can be strikingly beautiful even on the surface, but it is what is hidden and underneath that calls to me -reminds me that there are blossoms already within. Can you feel them there too?
Today’s word for #wholemama is: Winter. To read more from lovely #wholemama storytellers follow me over to Overflow and find the linky at the bottom of the page.
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