January

January

“There is a privacy about it which no other season gives you. In spring, summer and fall people sort of have an open season on each other; only in the winter, in the country, can you have longer, quiet stretches when you can savor belonging to yourself.” Ruth Stout

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My sattva mornings begin in the dark at 4AM. This is the quiet time my soul needs in order to start the day in peace and reflection. In the winter it’s even more delicious because it’s dark longer and I can belong to myself for hours before the obligations of the day intercede for their accomplishment.

Ten years ago I created an art journal of my garden….a photo each day for a year…to watch the changes and the perfection of life as it carries on its mystery in front of me. This year I am writing an essay for each month. Walking and observing, I gather words so I can let them slip into feelings on the page.

The beginning of a year, January, when plants greet each morning with a turn towards the returning light, having bathed in the moonlight of the Wolf Moon, the Spirit Moon, the Cold Moon. The snow-dusted branches of my small woodland, shivering in the sun, frigid but budding still. The birds hiding in the dead tangle of the garden’s stragglers, flitting to the feeder, their tiny feet gripping the cold perch. The wintery light sliding across the snow-covered lawn, low and thin.

She is my guide, the Tengliu, the winter Goddess. Carrying the feeder to the birds waiting for their tempting seeds in the early morning, noisy crunching footsteps on old snow, cheeks brushed with the cold wind. After lunch, snow obscures the path so I walk with a blind step on my way to the library just a block away. A mid-afternoon break and I do not resist the sun’s beckoning me to sit on the step outside my yoga studio, warming my face with the southern light, the snowfield spread out before me. If I’m very still, cardinals and chickadees come to drink from the warm birdbath across the patio.

Late afternoon with the approaching ruminating dark, a wisdom arises out of the country silence of my life. Twilight, partially melted snow surrounding tree and house, sage and lavender scent the wind as rabbits cavort behind the honeysuckle, evergreens patiently await their turn. This icy white January night is upon me as I prepare for my own slumber under handknit blankets. I keep the window open, thus my connection to the winter world outside is unbroken. Breathing in the cold air, snuggled, and body-warm, I dream of flowering, rising nature on my doorstep, my gift to the world.