Denouement

The cold and shortened daylight brought a quietus to the season. The temperature is not cold, about 20 degrees, and the snow does not squeak beneath my feet when I walk as it does when the temperature is colder. It has just started to snow and is only starting to accumulate on the Ponderosa needles. But the junipers have caught more snow and are looking picturesque. The snow falls in medium size flakes, not giant flakes that float gently down, but certainly not small, blizzardy flakes. There’s a breeze now and then that swirls the flakes around playfully. Otherwise, it’s peaceful. Peaceful in a way that falling snow seems to create, hushed, as if the pace of the world has slowed. It allows for thoughtfulness, a contemplation of deeper things within.

On this last day of the year, my thoughts drift to the many events of the past year, and this place where I find myself now. It was a really rough year. But I see new life in myself as a new year is about to begin. A thin blanket of snow insulates the think ice sheet that fills the creek bed. 

​Winter can be confusing. Is it the end of the seasons? Or the transition to something new? It is both and we can be at different points on that path. The first frost, the first snowfall, the freezing over of streams and rivers. The remnants of plant life. The migration of birds and butterflies. The disappearance of bees and bears. All signs of an ending of the seasons. The longer, darker, cold nights. The rising sun clearing the eastern horizon further south and later each morning. A slowing, inward looking quiet settles over all of nature. 

And yet, as winter solstice passes and we venture out, we find there are foot prints in the snow, mostly left by prey and sometimes by predators, signs that life goes on. The stellar jays dominate the air waves and water flows beneath the ice. So life never comes to a complete end. Even the stalks of flowers that have gone to seed and stand as dead reminders of life past and life’s promise, casting shadow patterns on the snow, bring a certain beauty and grace to a desolate winter’s landscape. 
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​And we do venture out, because we are not made for hibernation. Maybe our ventures out are not as long while our sleeps are longer. But we must venture out and into the depths of winter. Almost as an act of defiance against the fierce winds and the bitter cold. 

We are not built to survive in these conditions for very long, but we are at times built, for briefs moments, to laugh at them and smile at them, or be humbled by winter’s ferociousness. And there are those rare souls that find winter their greatest joy, live for the defiance, find love and happiness even in all the desolation of winter.

The last two years have been some of the most difficult I have experienced personally. For me, I have often found my solace in nature. As I walk and observe, it is easy to allow my mind to wonder and often find a connection between nature and things that are going on in my life. I love observing what nature has to offer.  

Some call this sort of nature pondering mindfulness, a wakeful presence, a form of spiritual practice. Laura Sewell observes that “perception, consciousness, and behavior are interdependent. Skillful perception is the practice of intentionally sensing with our eyes, pores, and hearts wide open.” Being in nature can slow time, provide solitude for contemplation and reflection. And through this process, there can be growth, even as one is grieving.