Snowy Woods In January
To sit against a tree trunk, under a clear blue sky, in the middle of the snowy woods, in January. A deep and gracious sunshine soaks into raggedy bones. Pale flesh tingles, alive.
Silence fills the open space, its surface broken only by the echo of a raven or the twitter of winter birds.
Time suspends.
Here, in the cathedral of the ancient world, deep calls to deep and our souls reverberate with the sound of it. Here, pieces fall into place, the path opens up, the knowledge is found.
Here, we know our beautiful small. Here, humility anchors our big. Here, we are so much less, and we're so much more.
Wishing you a gentle week's beginning, friends.
P.S. Three cheers for those reminders.