Coming Cold

Winter is not a time of loss,

Not just a time of cold.

It is a pause,

A break in the cycle of growth and light.

A time to rest, step back, step in,

And reflect.

The dark time brings us back to hearth and home,

Back to our roots and each other.

We share this quiet time within ourselves,

Deeply formed thoughts reflected in firelight.

Winter is a time of shared isolation.

We are all closed in, alone with each other.

The trees are quiet, too.   All

Sounds are muffled by the snow.

Burrows and dens surrounded by the white warmth

Shelter life until spring.

Crystal cold water runs beneath a

Covering of ice,

Sneaking away to the open sea,

Escaping the slowing by cold’s icy grip.

The cold penetrates all, it slides

Silently over the sills

And in through the cracks and settles

In pools around my feet.

Cold turns the air into crystals of ice,

That sparkle as diamonds in the sun.

But the sun holds little warmth in winter.

Her light for illumination only.

She has given the world over to the other side

A universe and life in balance, as it should be.

The light and warm time will come again, it always does

It is trustworthy.

So I am content to sit by the fire and marvel

At the wonder and beauty of winter.

I appreciate my place in the flow of the seasons

And my oneness with all creatures.

Join me, step back and observe, listen and be still

Hear the magic and grace that surrounds you.

Let the crystal blue sparkling sky fill your eyes and heart with the joy of the season

And be at peace in this time of waiting.

The Watcher of the Wood

From my bedroom window

I watch the woodland change with the seasons.

On the corner of the house, a maple branch hugs the windowsill

Its leaves framing my view of the forest.

How can I explain the secret life of leaves I observe from my window and the

Magical growth that takes place in silence unseen?

I can think of no words to use, so instead I just watch, I watch the breeze

ruffle the leaves and the branches move together in the wind like fans made of feathers.

And then the rain comes and I watch the drops play the

Leaves like keys on a piano.

I am content with my role as watcher and marvel at the strength and skill the trees employ when they interlock  their arms to form an impenetrable force of gentle power in silence.

These graceful tree spirits are woven together by the hand of God to create

The framework of the forest.

They surround my home and speak to my soul and

My heart hears their thoughts and hopes,

And I realize and know that they are

Not so different from me.

I understand and accept that we share this planet and are

Children of the One in all our varied forms

All connected,

All equal in the eyes of our creator.

And the peace and stillness of the wood

pervades my soul and feeds my spirit and makes me one with those who stand outside looking in.

The Courage of Autumn

Swift summer snuck in,

Greening up from the edges, shading the forest floor.

It came complete with lovely summer evenings

Where warm breezes filled the night,

And a blanket of starts twinkled in the

Dark humid haze.
The August thunder filled my soul

With its power and its wildness renewed me.

My garden produced produce from the earth

Feeding my soul as richly as it fed my body.

This summer was a season of energy and rapid growth.

There was no time to waste, “bloom now, don’t be afraid” was its message.

But now, without warning, the days begin to shorten,

The afternoon shadows grow longer.

Late night mists form as the heart of summer

Makes its escape back to the sky from where it came.

The golden sunglow fades from my skin as it

Has from the fields.

A summer season of riotous beginnings looses its energy and

Fades into the arms of autumn.

As the seasons change, so must I.

I need to return to the safety and warmth of my home and

Gather my growings to feed my body as I gather my loves

To sustain my soul through the cold, dark time to come.

Autumn is the time to return to what was, to what came before

Summer’s brief and beautiful interruption.

Fearlessly and with a final burst of thanks in colors of red and gold,

The earth has gently shed its past with its leaves.

If only I could shed mine with such courage and beauty.