Hugging Winter

by Linda Robinson

Like many who approach their 60th birthday, I’m sometimes shocked that date is so near.  My baby sisters, who teased me about my Elvis poster, are talking quietly about menopause.  We admire the muted and sublime coppers, browns and golds of autumn more than the yellow greens of spring, because the colors resonate with us.  We feel the pull of gravity more than the lunar tug of maiden days.  Our parents have passed on, or we care tenderly for them the way they once did for us.  And our children are sleeping in new beds in their own homes now.

Our paths wind more through the spiritual, too.  We glance behind ambition for meaning, and peek around dogma for sustenance, and see with our kinder inner eye the fables and follies of human life.  We sshh our minds to be quieter and we weed through our thoughts to remove obstructions to new growth.  We try to replace longing with gratitude, and we contemplate the remaining years of our lives.  We walk slower and breathe deeper and notice less the white noise of the days, and hear the murmuring of calm beneath.

In the Winter, when Mother Nature is dozing, preparing the Earth for the Spring, I can visualize her sleeping face the way mine looks now; lined with good work and good humor, and peaceful with accomplishments past and opportunities ahead.

The Native American practice of thanking nature for its bounty resonates dramatically in Winter.  Walking daily in our beautiful parks in all seasons, I feel so appreciative of the long blessings of Mother Nature!  Picking up litter left on her brow, showing respect by leaving what I see where it is for the next walker to behold, volunteering to weed the park gardens, watching the sun sparkle on water, the veins of sacred Earth.

Mother Nature and I are closest in Winter now.  One subzero winter morning a couple years ago, we awoke to a freezing fog and a clear sky dawning.  I knew this gorgeous scene wouldn’t last once the sun was up, so I grabbed my coat, boots and camera and skidded out the door to capture Mother Nature’s show.  As I approached one close-up of crystals on a crabapple tree, I was so near, my breath melted the ice.  I was stunned into self-awareness.  This is my life!  So beautiful and so fragile and so short-lived on earth, and how wonderful it all is at the moment we understand.

So it is that Winter, once a season to wish away, is now a season I embrace.  We can stand on a riverbank and hear the water promising a new Spring, even if one day we will not be here to see it, as my mother and grandmother and great-grandmother were not when their time came.  Close your eyes and listen to the ice talking to the sleeping seeds under the ground.  Be still and have a chickadee speak of nests unused, soon to be filled with new life once again.  Feel the cold air warmed in your body and returned to the atmosphere as warm, living breath.  When your eyes are open once again, smile at the yearling doe who came to share this space, and wish her as much peace.   

Linda Robinson is an artist who is still growing up in a small town in beautiful Michigan. Her art can be viewed at Thomas Video in Clawson, DaVinci Gallery in Adrian, and on her website at www.58moon.com