WINTER MEDITATION

Sometimes life throws unexpected curves and all that seemed normal and easy somehow takes on enough weight to slow you down, interfering with the daily flow of things.  Thankfully winter is my favorite season, and thankfully we have recently had snow so that I can engage in my favorite outdoor exercise, cross-country skiing.  I love skiing for its quite solitude, its surround of beauty, and the opportunity to be one with nature.

When the earth is blanketed with unsullied snow and the bare trees and dried weeds stand out so starkly, I am overwhelmed by the surrounding beauty.  I step out my back door, turn to the left, ski up over my garden plot, up short but steep hills, traverse through the sumac, across fields, following the trail up yet another hill (hard to avoid here in the Kickapoo Valley) along the upper edge of the hay field, through the woods, down the now snow-covered alfalfa field, crossing the road, and then for a long stretch along Jug Creek, until I have made a huge circle of our property, back to where I started.
There is something about the circle that keeps one together and calm.

The first leg of the journey, just above the sumac and my workshop, overlooking our eastern hills.  By the time I arrive here, the rhythm of skiing has quieted my inner agitation, and the trees have absolved any turmoil within.

This stretch of field covered with fresh snow seems ready for an artist's touch...
I am struck by the stark beauty of winter, each and every schuss of my ski presents something so beautiful I must force myself to continue and not stop continually for photo shoots...each tree, each weed calling out the beauty of itself.

This photo does not capture the exquisite color of these dried weeds.  They may appear a drab tan to others, but to me I see the hidden reds alive with the colors of sunset.

How like a lovely piece of antique jewelry this is.  It moves me so deeply that for a moment I am consumed into it.

This seems to beckon , like my grandmother's filigreed earrings, to adorn me.  I have yet to pass a weed that does not call out to me its statement, its presence, its integral place in the all.

Jug Creek curving and moving...
The gentle gurgle of water moving under the ice is hypnotic.

The very last leg of the journey, the field across from the house and barn, looking northeast.

Each day I give thanks for the beauty of this area, how it speaks creation's artistry so eloquently, and how it comforts me.