A Long Winter

It Has Been a Long Winter

I have been remiss in writing my blog.  This winter has been particularly cold and ladened with snow.  While I delight in a fresh sparkle of a Christmas snow,  I now look out on the mounds of snow around the farm.  To a child it might be the greatest playground for king of the mountain, but instead it reminds me that the snow will melt, slower than I would like.  At the end of the snow is always the season of mud. 

I guess grief can be like that.  In our earliest grief we feel the sharpness of the loss.  Sometimes it almost feel like your physical heart could break, similar to the -30 degree temperature with the wind at your face.  It is a piercing and painful experience.  And as the snow disappears we find the muck and even rubbish that has fallen into that cold mixture and settled on the ground.

Even though the snow is gone there may remain obstacles that trip us up.  They were so cleverly hidden in the white fluff of snow, but now we must attend to it.

One of my professors, who I studied under during my graduate work, is now a colleague of mine.  He was swift in identifying my rich metaphors.  I will not engage you in a lengthy metaphor, however I do believe there are gifts in the changing of the seasons.  I sit at my dining table looking out on March’s first day of sunshine.  It is a beautiful blue sky with moderate temperatures hovering around 35 degrees.  The snow may dissipate with the sunshine, but we will not see a significant change tomorrow morning. 

I am anticipating the iced waterfalls as they begin to drip and shine in the sunlight.  I soon will embark on a hiking trail with my camera in tow, in an attempt to capture the beauty.  Each solitary drop seemingly appears as tears for me.  Some are tears of sadness and grief, some are the joy of the delight of nature.  They glisten in the sun and sing a melody of droplets.  My gratitude is overflowing.  Spring will come with fresh green grass, sprouts of wildflowers and buds on the deciduous trees.  It will not erase grief, instead it reminds us of the circle of life, ever changing.  Companions on our journeys can help us to see through their lens to guide us in seeing the beauty of nature’s masterpieces. 

So, I will go into the wilderness, seek out nature.  Joining in the stillness, I will quietly sit against the rough bark of a tree.  Listening to her, soaking in the rhythms of nature and her seasons will lead me to my hope for the future.  Praying you will find your wilderness sanctuary.

In gratitude,

Julie