Thursday, January 27, 2011

The Waiting Is The Hardest Part

Every year its the same old thing, so why oh why doesn't the waiting get any easier?  I love winter, truly I do.  But sometimes, I just don't want to brace myself before stepping outside.  It's not that I don't love the coziness of the season.  I think practically no one can do cozy as well as I can.  Sipping tea, wrapped up in my mother's handknit blankets, cuddling with the puppies, building, burning and maintaining a fire in the fireplace.
All really lovely things, indeed.  Knitting and wearing wooly socks, reading good books, watching silly shows on TV, all lovely distactions.  I even manage to break up the cozy routine with some outdoor fun.  Lots of skiing with Max and friends, snowshoeing, long walkies with the dogs and THEIR friends, and of course there's always the daily trips to the chicken coop to take care of the ladies.  All simply wonderful things.  However . . .

I miss Spring.  It is my season afterall.  There are so many things I love about Spring.  I indulged myself the other day and listed all the things I love about Spring.  Not surprisingly those things have changed over the course of my life.  As a child it was the anticipation of Easter, the bunny's visit, and the basket full of goodies.  In my youth, it was the thrill of wearing new shorts and tee's after a winter of turtlenecks, sweaters, and courderoys.  It was, well, the thrill of being able to bare more skin, for the warmth of the sun.  In my young adult life, it was the renewal of the flowers and the color around me.  And now, just a tick later, I realize what I miss most is the feeling I get deep down in my own roots.  As if something is stirring.  A little spark of energy that wants to make its way into the world and leave its mark.  Rather than take heat from around me through fires, blankets, and tea, I want to feel that fire building within.

But, it's not yet time.  It is the time of patience.  It is the time for watching and waiting. 
Soon enough I will be weilding the shovel, turning the earth, pruning the roses, and planting the seeds.   Soon it will be the time of the Meadowlark.  Soon it will be mornings filled with birdsong.  Until then, I wait.  I wait with my friends whose lives are uncertain, and I hold them in light.  I wait with my sisters whose lives have turned on a dime, and I pray for them.  I rejoice in the return of the light knowing that soon, the earth will give her much anticipated exhale and we can begin again.

Watchul Gnome

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