Eight degrees

Sparkles of red, blue, and gold twinkle on the pond.  The birds are sunning themselves in the bare trees, trying to catch a little warmth on this frigid morning.  Bright, beautiful sunshine and blue skies have replaced the clouds.  Feet of ice dip their toes into a stream of blue water.  Not everything is frozen.

Day 15.

bubbling naiads

bubbling, babbling, burbling
the gurgling gush of the January thaw
water sprites splashing in the stream

Because we have not had a proper winter — lots of rain, warm weather, and very little in the way of ice and snow — I hesitated to use the term January Thaw, but it is January and the snow and ice from the past few days is quickly thawing as it warms up again.  Good enough.  🙂

 

Quietude

Winter falls silently across the morning,
a blanket of snow stretches over the dreaming earth.
Unmarked paths of white wait in quietude.

My January 3rd small stone, tossed into the river.

I found this difficult to do today, and had many thoughts about giving up.  It is almost impossible, it seems to me, to capture in words or photos the beauty of the first big snowfall, when the world is hushed and the snowflakes waltz down from the sky, romancing the earth before covering her in winter’s white and sparkling jewels and clothing.

The middle way

As human beings, not only do we seek resolution, but we also feel that we deserve resolution.  However, not only do we not deserve resolution, we suffer from resolution.  We don’t deserve resolution; we deserve something better than that. We deserve our birthright, which is the middle way, an open state of mind that can relax with paradox and ambiguity.

~ Pema Chödrön

Going to the next level

(Approaching the abyss)

We have no where to go (really) but down — eventually we must all let go and jump — it is supposedly that act which propels us to the next level — to enlightenment.  What would bring us to this point — where are we willing to give up the self?  Does the fall into the abyss always result in enlightenment?  How would we know?  What do we have to give up to make such a leap?

~ Hakuin Ekaku

I don’t know how we know.  I do know one of the things we have to give up to make a leap, any leap, is fear.  I’ve had to give it up a few times, to carry on with the commitment I made to get outside every day.  I think it was the commitment that gave me the courage to give up the fear so I could make those leaps.

Or maybe I’m just plain crazy, like The Fool in the Tarot, a card I have long identified with.  Sometimes it takes a little crazy to move on or move up, or even just to carry on.

There is no path

For the discovery of truth there is no path…

~ J. Krishnamurti

Not too difficult

(Path at the back of the pond.  November 2008.)

Always will I take another step.  If that is of no avail I will take another, and yet another.  In truth, one step at a time is not too difficult…

~ Og Mandino

You can find the music here.

The photo above was taken a couple of weeks ago.  It looks nothing like that outside now.

(Today’s view of the pond and visitors.)

The ducks are back, and the pond is starting to freeze.  I guess that means we won’t be avoiding winter this year.

I think the wooly bear may have been wrong.

Pathways

(Photo by Robin. Quail Hollow. 2006)

Above all, do not lose your desire to walk. Every day I walk myself into a state of well-being and walk away from every illness. I have walked myself into my best thoughts, and I know of no thought so burdensome that one cannot walk away from it … if one just keeps on walking, everything will be all right.

–SOREN KIERKEGAARD, Danish philosopher, 1813-55

Dancing with the Snow Queen

(Photo by Robin)

I’ve always liked winter, especially the snow and ice.

When I was a little girl still filled with innocence and magical abilities, somewhere around the age of 7 or 8, I woke up in the middle of the night and looked out the window that was next to my bed to find it had snowed and was continuing to snow. It was the proverbial and cliched winter wonderland waiting for me just outside of my window. The moon was full and the moonlight poured down upon the scene making everything shimmer and glow in its silvery-white luminescence.

I hopped out of bed and tip-toed down the stairs, through the living room, through the kitchen, and to the back door. I slowly and quietly opened the door, desperately hoping I wouldn’t wake anyone because I was sure this wondrously magical night was mine and I didn’t want to share it. The door, as usual, creaked. I waited. Nothing happened. I waited some more, listening, listening. All was quiet. I opened the door some more, just enough for me to scoot outside.

I stepped out, my bare feet at first shocked by the cold. I hadn’t bothered to dress, thinking my long flannel nightgown would be warm enough. There really must have been magic in that night because after the initial shock to the feet, I never again felt the cold, not once, the entire time I was out there.

Oh, the snow! It was gorgeous! I ran out to the middle of the backyard and looked up at the moon, watching the big, fat snowflakes fall from the sky. I twirled, I danced, I laughed, and turned a few cartwheels while I was at it. I stuck out my tongue to catch the snowflakes. I danced some more, twirling and whirling like the snowflakes falling from above.

At some point during my snow dance I felt a presence there with me. I didn’t know who She was at the time, but She was there, watching over me, dancing with me, laughing with me, and even turning a few cartwheels of Her own. She was my very own Snow Queen and for that night I was Her daughter the Snow Princess.

I bathed in the moonlight and the snow with nothing between me, the moonlight, and the snow. I felt gloriously free and light, as if I could fly with the snow. The cold never touched me.

I’m not sure how long I stayed out there dancing in the snow and the night. It felt like hours, as if time had stopped for me so that the night could go on for just a little longer than usual. When I finally made my way back to bed, I thought I’d never get back to sleep. The bed was warm and comfy, but I was invigorated from my time in the snow. Eventually I did fall asleep, lulled into the deep reaches of dreamland as I watched the snowflakes outside of my window.

I fell in love with winter that night. It’s a love that’s lasted through all the ups and downs of childhood, my teenage years, and my adulthood. Every winter I look forward to the first good snowfall and remember the magical, wonder-filled night when I was blessed with the gift of dancing with the Snow Queen.

A day in the life

(Snow in the Bogs. January 2006. Photo by Robin)

“A woman in harmony with her spirit is like a river flowing. She goes where she will without pretense and arrives at her destination prepared to be herself and only herself.” —Maya Angelou

Lying in bed, my head on my husband’s chest, nothing between us, not the sheets or the blankets or clothing of any kind. I feel the rise and fall of his chest, the silky-scratchiness of the hair on his body, the rhythm of his heartbeat, and the slight breeze of his breath whispering through my hair. I open my eyes and stare out the window and watch the silence of the snowflakes falling from the sky. My body is light. I am floating in a sea of peace, contentment, relaxation, and love.

Later….breakfast….

Steel-cut oats with apples added at the last minute so that they’re still slightly crisp when you bite into them. The oats have a smooth crunchiness to them, hard to describe….a kind of snap occurs when you bite down. The scent of cinnamon wafting up with the steam from the oatmeal. The food is comforting, warm and filling. Perfect for this cold and snowy Saturday.

I sit at the table and the music from the radio washes over me. I’ve never been much of a fidgeter, but now I can’t sit still. The music moves throughout my muscles, into my blood and I find myself moving with it, slight movements at first. I rise out of my chair and dance my way to the kitchen to put my empty bowl in the dishwasher and clean up after breakfast.

I stand at the kitchen sink, once again watching the snow fall and flurry and whirl. I hear M laugh at something our youngest son just said. Youngest Son laughs with him.

I am frozen in this moment, stretching it out in order to experience every last little bit of it. It’s a moment of contentment and peace. A moment of family bliss.

I move to the kitchen counter, and begin making a grocery list. The pen is hard and cold between my fingers, the paper smooth. Pen scritch-scratching as the list grows. I’m thinking about making soup for dinner tonight. I came across a recipe for Thai Tomato Soup that intrigued me….ginger, basil, tomato juice, bok choy, cocount milk. It’s not a combination I’m familiar with and I’m looking forward to trying it.

I sip on a cup of yerba matte tea, enjoying the heat as it moves down my throat and into my stomach. The taste is peppery with a hint of bitterness. The drowsiness of the morning starts to lift as the tea does its thing.

Grocery list and tea finished, I get ready to leave. We’re going out to our new home today to install the baseboards. Fun with hammers and nails. I put on a few layers of clothing because we keep the heat turned down low at our new house. Besides, I might want to jump in the sled and slide down the hill while I’m out there.

I step outside into the cold morning and my eyes are assaulted by the blinding whiteness of the landscape. The snow is falling so heavily now that even the sky appears to be a bright shade of the purest white. I take a deep breath of the icy cold air and feel winter rush through me, invigorating me from the inside out. A gust of wind whips by and rustles the tree branches. Snow comes tumbling down the spruce tree like a mini avalanche.

I make my way carefully down the sidewalk and to the driveway. It’s slippery in spots and I do a little slide-skid thing every now and then. I reach my destination and climb into the truck which is filled with the lingering scent of the hot pizza my husband brought home for dinner last night. It makes my stomach rumble with hunger even though I just finished breakfast not all that long ago.

As I wait for my husband to join me, I watch a black squirrel speed across the snow, racing from tree to tree, occasionally stopping to dig in the snow and pull out some buried treasure — food put away in the ground during warmer days.

It’s a good beginning for a winter’s day.

(r.a.s. 01/04/03)
(I wrote this a couple of years ago, when we were still fixing up our home in the Bogs.)