and now December
Thanks for those of you who reached out in the last few weeks about the Tony Hoagland poem. I look forward to sharing more poems.
We are in the dark here. Each morning this time of year I rise in the dark, make my way down to the fire, tend the children who curl into me like seeds in their pods, warm up tea, find gloves, hats, jackets, navigate lunch boxes and streams of pajamas across the floor. This all happens in the dark. They leave in the dark. And I slip off to the quiet of my studio to start the day.
I start the day in the quiet of my studio most days, staring out at the trees, the cadence of my breaths, noticing the state of my body, mind, and heart, taking stock.
This morning despite how cold it was and that at 6:47 it was still so dark outside that I couldn’t see much I went out on the deck. I often go outside to hear birds, feel wind, and still myself.
This morning, the air was humming and I couldn’t quite see it yet. On the deck was a dusting of snow. I grabbed something warm to wrap myself in and sat down staring at the humming thinking it might turn to snow.
And it did, first icy little pellets and then as it got going bigger fluffier snowflakes.
Pretty soon, I was surrounded in quiet.
One landed on my lip melting instantly. Tasting like rest. Or maybe grace. Or change
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