This year I realized that I have been lying about my favorite season for years. The blazing glory of Northeast Pennsylvania fall foliage aside, my favorite season is not autumn. It is winter.
Hope is a commitment we make to ourselves. There is something about the darkness this season brings, something about the way it almost overpowers the light, that helps us see just how much that light means. I believe that this is why we light yule logs and Menorahs and Christmas lights.
The contrast between indoor coziness and exterior misery has something to do with this, I'm sure. But the real reason I love winter is because of the absolute clarity that this time of year brings. It is a clarity that doesn't come from books or journaling or other people. It is a clarity that comes straight from the source.
And here is an example. Standing on the edge of my snow covered lawn, I hear a crow call from the woods and a moment later another responds and even before the words come, I know something I didn't know before.
A few years ago I came in from another cold lawn and wrote that it takes determination to make a go of winter in Northeast PA. But the truth is that it takes more than determination - it takes hope. And just now, out in the wet snow, I realized something I should have figured out a long time ago.
Hope is a commitment we make to ourselves. There is something about the darkness this season brings, something about the way it almost overpowers the light, that helps us see just how much that light means. I believe that this is why we light yule logs and Menorahs and Christmas lights.
Because in the midst of darkness, we need to remember that light is hope and that hope is a promise we must keep.
This year, a relationship I used to believe in is in trouble and people I care about are trying to make their way through a very difficult holiday. Words are my gift but in this words have failed me.
So I light a candle and I remind myself that even if no one else can see it right now that's okay because there are times when they did and there will be times when they will again.
And I know that, eventually, we will all get a chance to keep that flame going and that this year it is my turn to hold the light.
I was asleep in my room when I heard (through sleep) a loud knocking or pounding. I was counting the knocks evidently half asleep and not really aware I was counting because I heard myself say, that's 13. And as soon as I said it, my entire body was flooded with fear.
It was the fear which woke me up completely. I'm not sure if I opened my eyes or if I had had them open all along in the dark but I see that the room has somehow filled up with light. Seeing the light reassures me. The fear evaporates.
The illumination in the room is white-out bright and the light itself is dense and diffuse at the same time like a spotlight in the dark - much brighter of course but of that same hazy quality. The light is so white and so bright that it obscures the contents of the room though not quite completely. Underneath the brilliance, I make out the form of my bedroom - the blaze of the mirror, the shape of the furniture, walls, windows, drapes.
The illumination in the room is white-out bright and the light itself is dense and diffuse at the same time like a spotlight in the dark - much brighter of course but of that same hazy quality. The light is so white and so bright that it obscures the contents of the room though not quite completely. Underneath the brilliance, I make out the form of my bedroom - the blaze of the mirror, the shape of the furniture, walls, windows, drapes.
I watch the light for some time, feeling no need to analyze or understand it. Finally I drift off to sleep.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Translate
Social Icons