Wintertime is the season least dear to my heart. I am a solar-powered spring and summer girl. I love the smell of warming soil. The sunshine on my bare shoulders as I plunge my shovel into the earth. The energy in the air as a thunderhead blossoms in a summer sky. I need the color, the brightness, the open joy of the flowering seasons. I am so connected to all of the green, growing things that I mourn a bit each year as the leaves begin to fall and the first frost moves in.
But as I practice greater mindfulness, I am aware of the things that I like about winter, too. Yes, winter brings a muted collapse. But in this collapse, we can find intimacy and deep gratitude. When we are more restricted in our movements, when the riotous abundance of summer is removed, our focus narrows. We can discover a meditative appreciation of every detail.
I've been hearing the melancholy-sweet whistle of the white-throated sparrow this week. Today, I saw the jaunty flash of a junco's tail. The winter birds are here and they’re going to hunker down with the rest of us, coming closer than in summertime, because they need the food. I put out the seed today. I’ll be looking for the sparrow with the pure-white feather in her wing. Perhaps she will have raised a baby and it will be there too, also sporting a strange pale feather.
In late December, I’ll stand on the sidewalk at night, the air so cold that it stings in my chest. But I won’t care. Because the winter sky will be so clear, it will feel as if I am swimming among the stars.
I’ll fall in love with my houseplants again. Each blossom will be coddled and appreciated like a new baby.
If I’m lucky, we’ll have another snowfall that is so beautiful it will bring tears to my eyes.
Yes, I will appreciate winter more this year. I will appreciate it until about mid-January. And just when I can’t take any more of the closeness, the turning inward, the collapse of winter, we’ll round the bend into February, which is the worst month of all in St. Louis and should be completely skipped. In February, God help me, I hope to be out of town.
Hey, at least I know my limitations.
- Bronwyn
TheCurious(andSolarPowered)B
A blaze of bright orange milkweed flowers in summertime.
A storm powers up during a St. Louis summer.
Late-winter snow in St. Louis.
Beauty in a parking lot? Oh, yes! The forecast called for flurries but we got a snowstorm instead. The quietness and the pools of light in this parking lot created a perfect place to watch the huge flakes drift down like feathers. The song matches how I felt as I witnessed this event.