Thursday, April 30, 2015

winter silence


I wonder if the snow loves the trees and fields, that it kisses them so gently? And then it covers them up snug, you know, with a white quilt; and perhaps it says "Go to sleep, darlings, til the summer comes again." 
-Lewis Carroll - Through the Looking Glass 



I miss this space, I really do.

Creativity rarely strikes me in the winters. I am a mama bear who hibernates with a cup of tea and a good book. I would spend the whole winter that way if I could. Wrapped in a blanket with my baby reading books. Ginger tea with almond milk for me and hot cocoa (or as he says, “hot choc-AH-lut”) for him.

I guess it’s not that life is any more busy, it is just that I have so much less energy in the winter. The cold weather is not for me. I thrive in the sunshine. I need it to feed my soul and fill my tank. It is like food to me. Not only sunshine, but warmth on my face. 


So while I still live in a land where the winters are chilly, I will accept my fate and warm myself up with soup from the inside. I will accept that I only have enough energy to get through the work day. I will fuel my creativity with beautiful literature. I will paint. I will cuddle under blankets and drink tea and hot choc-AH-lut.

I will anxiously await spring. When my soul and my body reunite and I am whole again. Every spring it happens and every spring it surprises me

I was moving pictures this week from my computer to an external hard drive. I was weeding through thousands of pictures, thousands of memories. Thousands of experiences that I do not want to forget. They are mine to live and re-live over and over again. During the cold winter months I can remember that. I can pull up the pictures of my little family running on the beach. I can remember that there will always be another spring, another summer, another trip to the beach. Another day with sunshine, another frozen lemonade.

I can remember that the introverted and exhausted person holding a cup of tea in one hand and a tattered copy of Dorian Grey in the other isn’t necessarily me, just a temporary me. The version of me that comes out when the temperatures dip below 60 degrees. I can remember that I will feel whole again. I can remember that there is nothing wrong with drinking tea. That there is nothing wrong with me.

I can remember that I will feel creative again. I will write again.