The Arrival of Winter
The moon hung red in the sky last night, as red as a dream of Christmas. A spell was cast on the light in the garden and a curious blackness sifted down slowly through the evergreen hemlocks and pines. While far, far above, one after another, tulle-skirted clouds raced past the red moon on their way to a dance in the skies. All was quiet, and the great owls stared from their homes high up in the trees, with yellow eyes glowing orange in the light of this holly red moon - this icy herald of Winter - on the eve of this, the most magical season of all.
It never enters the landscape without being noticed, it has none of the shyness of Autumn or Spring. The white power of Winter will drive us to shelter, we’ll retreat to warm hearthsides in our harbours of stone. And there we shall struggle with this cold circumscription, knowing we shan’t walk through clover till Spring. Our souls will wriggle, and flounce, and we shall sigh heavy sighs. We will stare out at the icicles that pierce the air round our windows, and ponder the intricate pictures now drawn by Jack Frost.
But soon, very soon, our spirits will settle and we’ll feel clean and unhurried, much like the soft snowflakes drifting down from the sky. Our imaginations will drift and meander through strange fallow fields where we’ll sense the small stirrings of brand new ideas. Our thoughts will follow icy winds to undiscovered lands, where they’ll wander down overgrown pathways and open locked doors. We will rest and indulge in long conversations. We will sleep and our dreams will enlighten our hearts.
And when the Spring comes around, and it always does, we’ll awaken like roses, with new textures and colours - refreshed and enlivened by our time in the cold. Such is the magical wonder of Winter. A magnificent season, a gift to us all.
Raise a glass to its beauty. Sing a song of its grace.
Happy Solstice to All!
