Another cold, cloudy day. And the morning woke up wrapped in a deep froze. When I looked outside the window this morning as I usually do first thing after waking up, I thought it had snowed during the night. For the land was covered in ices and the scenery upon which my somewhat still sleepy mind came to, transported me far away to the house in the roses and those early snowy mornings when I used to wake up to a world tinted white in ices, resembling a fairytale out of a movie.
I cannot stop thinking of how blessed I’ve been and how thankful I am to be able to stay home and enjoy my days in such blissful quietness and gentleness. Am I a hermit? My heart is. It yearns for it—the seclusion and interior detachment, the silence, the solitude, the desire for spiritual growth and unity with Nature. I am aggravated by the foolishness and wickedness of this world and don’t desire its nearness. If I could, if I could choose the dwelling place of my heart, no doubt I would chose the shelter of the garden with only the yellow-winged Tanager for a friend and the wail of the mourning dove for company.
Solitude—the practice of our "waiting for, and on God" is much needed in our world.
I’ve been writing. Continuing working on a project that is taken on too much time and should have been finished by now; or better yet, forget it by now. For I am writing out of my scope; writing in a language that is not my Mother Tongue. A dare too far? But my last book (in Spanish) is now ready to come out next month. What a privilege when a total stranger would come to me and hug me because they have already met me through my writings.
It has gotten so cold around here that I finally had to bring in the rest of the ferns I had sitting out in the garage. Our little windowed-dinning room is now cocooned in a leafy green atmosphere that I love. This natural ambience brings such peacefulness to my surroundings and simple days…
I am excited about those warmer sunny days ahead, and I’ve been dreaming everyday with things I want to see and do in the garden. I can hardly wait for spring to arrive—a woman fairy, that’s how I see it. A fairy named ‘Spring’. I can almost see her swathed in her muslin dress of soft pastels inspired by elements of nature, as she descends from the sky like a Mary Poppins of sorts carrying in her left hand a lovely umbrella made out of thousands of English roses. Ah, do hurry in your journey through the seasons, lovely Spring.