To the unaccustomed eye, everything may look
the same…
At a first glance things may have the same resonance, the same feel to it, the same color
or colorless on the wintry landscape...
How marvelous everything looks to me too… this world devoid of the familiar iciness and winds that cut through bones. I am at awe—dumbfounded at how I don’t see the need for thicker layers and still feel comfortable being outside on a 25 degree morning. What is it?
Here too, our mornings wake up wrapped in chilly blankets of
frosty dew, and our temperatures are hitting the 25’s and 26’s… yet, somehow…
...things are not really the same. It is a
different kind of cold around here—a chill, a cold, a wintry weather all the same, but devoid of
the bitterness and austereness of the north.
And how marvelous and utterly wonderful and brilliant the sun shines in
the south—always leaving a trail of glitter behind and above and all around... always enfolding my soul in blissful delightfulness...
It puts a new kind of song in my tongue this wintery warmth…
and I harbor in my soul blessings that I count in clear blue skies and this
astonishing sun of the south; which lets me stand still in this frosty nippiness; eyes
closed feeling this miracle in my skin of not being struck by cold. I can hardly believe this is real—this
marvelous warmth of a winter southern sun that knows only how to wrap my soul in
pleasantness so sweet.
How marvelous everything looks to me too… this world devoid of the familiar iciness and winds that cut through bones. I am at awe—dumbfounded at how I don’t see the need for thicker layers and still feel comfortable being outside on a 25 degree morning. What is it?
I remember how when living in the great white north back at
the house in the roses I used to wait for winter solstice with great anticipation—the
wheel of time turning more slowly, night coming earlier each day and that sense
of quiet anticipation whispering in my ear.
Those days just before Christmas were too short, too dark and ominous
for my sunlight thirsty soul. And I
waited for the shortest day of the year for no other reason than just to see it
ended… and witness the miracle of time taking place after solstice—of days progressively getting longer; daylight
extending wings like butterflies...
I’m so thankful I don’t have to do that anymore. I cannot say I miss my loved ones any less; I
still do miss them terribly and I don’t think I will ever stop missing
them. But I’d never go back to that cold
again if I can have this marvelous sun of the south warming my old bones.
Do you like winter? I mean the really really cold snowy kind of
winters? I love winter images… images like these ones here enchant me... they posses such special kind of magic. They
make me dream. If I watch them too much
the scenes would become real, they’d come to life and I will be transported
right into them and into their white landscapes.
See what I mean? It’s surreal.
It’s magical.
But that just happens only in the mystical sense.
But that just happens only in the mystical sense.
In
real life this kind of winter does not seem that romantic to me. In fact, I don’t do well in winter when the
great sun turns his face away and my little world goes down into a white vale
of grief. That’s how I used to see
winter… or think of it back then while living at the house in the roses.
My husband showed me a picture on the internet this morning
of our old place up north covered up in snow and I trembled… literally. All the memories rushing down on me as I was being
transported there; to that white-bluish
light of the wintery landscape I knew so well. But then, I looked outside our window and was
brought back to reality by this amazing sun of the south warming up the earth outside. There are times when I still think I’m
dreaming. Dreaming those dreams I used
to dream of a white little cottage wrapped in sunshine and no more bitter cold to
stand. How fortunate I am and how my
life has taken this unexpected turn towards the sun—the road that brought us
south. It’s almost unbelievable.
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