Only Five Things

He said, “I want only five things, five chosen roots.
One is an endless love.
Two is to see the autumn. I cannot exist without leaves flying and falling to the earth.
The third is the solemn winter, the rain I loved, the caress of fire in the rough cold.
Fourth, the summer, plump as a watermelon.
And fifthly, your eyes.

– Pablo Neruda –

Ahhhh…Neruda and what his words evoke.
As winter, solemn and bitterly cold, descends here on the northern prairies, I think of the gifts of living within the cycle of seasons. A radical simplicity in the noticing, naming and appreciating.
The now foreshortened sun appears still in the Solstice sky, an offering I accept to sink into rest and reflection.

Wishing you, dear friends, simple gifts of the season, kindest regards, and an endless love.

Step Consciously into December

May you grow still enough to hear the small noises earth makes in preparing for the long sleep of winter,
so that you yourself may grow calm and grounded deep within.

May you grow still enough to hear the trickling of water seeping
into the ground,
so that your soul may be softened and healed, and guided in its flow.

May you grow still enough to hear the splintering of starlight in the winter sky and the roar at earth’s fiery core.

May you grow still enough to hear the stir of a single snowflake in the air,
so that your inner silence may turn into hushed expectation.

Brother David Steintl-Rast

On the heels of Monday’s post, re-Wintering, one of the women in my circle wrote, “It has been interesting the way our conversation last week on “wintering” has continued to resonate…. A friend shared this with me and thought you would appreciate it as well.”
As she offered, may we all “step consciously into December.”

Winter into Spring

January Buds Waiting

WINTER INTO SPRING

The trees, along their bare limbs,
contemplate green.
A flicker, rising, flashes rust and white
before vanishing into stillness,
and raked leaves crumble imperceptibly
to dirt.

On all sides life opens and closes
around like a mouth.
Will you pretend you are not
caught between its teeth?

The kestrel in its swift dive
and the mouse below,
the first green shoots that
will not wait for spring
are a language constantly forming.

Quiet your pride and listen.
There — beneath the rainfall
and the ravens calling you can hear it —
the great tongue constantly enunciating
something that rings through the world
as grace.

Lynn Ungar
(Bread and Other Miracles)

Last week when I wrote about Wintering, I was aware it was Imbolc, the ancient Celtic holy day, midway between Winter Solstice and the Vernal Equinox, that honours the “barely beginnings” of new life. Try as I might to acknowledge that in my post, I couldn’t, needing instead to simply stay put in the depth of wintering. Maybe a prescient response to the deep Arctic cold that descended upon us this week, nonetheless, those barely beginnings are evident. Sun rising earlier in the morning, sitting higher in the noon sky, setting later in the afternoon. Hyacinth, tulip and daffodil bulbs forced in greenhouse warmth. Latent buds on trees. We wait. It comes. Winter into Spring.

%d bloggers like this: