Seasons interwoven; the end of one, the beginning of another… and I am feeling a deep desire to be like numinous leaves, blown to that Primitive Garden—a place outside this place. The land of all beginnings.
As I walk the lonesome garden, its landscape becomes my soul; its wintry topography the country of my heart; bared and longing for the bountifulness of seeds and blooms. I am memorizing and treasuring precious memories; of gatherings at the old homestead these past few weeks; treasuring within my heart this yearning—this mystical longing as I see my children and the children of my children setting out on their journey back home.
This is the season of contrasts and thanksgiving, family times and gatherings, but also it is the season of parting and of deep loneliness for many people. It doesn’t matter how hard you hold onto the air you breathe, there is always an end to everything. And thus, I am back to the accustomed ways and my naked trees, gloomy days of the Old December and cold north winds. Can I choose barren simple beauty in a time of thoughtfulness?
At the moment I am caught between two sentiments—the beauty of silence and the reticent joy of clatter and family and the laughter of children and the embracing and whispering in tiny ears “I love you” . How do I choose one without rebuffing the other? Can I choose both? Because I need both.
Like the naked trees outside my window stands my soul before the world.