The cold moon ushers in the New Year – full of promise, flanked by worry and doubt and fear, but new nonetheless, and fresh and free. May we all see dreams made real, time and touch and love, and may we be happy. May we take this year and make it what we want and need, and may we do what we can do. May we happen, and not get happened to. The New Year opens the door. May we all walk through.
Delicate and slow Snowflakes descend from gray skies And turn the world bright
In rhythm with life Like white petals on a breeze Fragile crystals fall
Powder coats the ground Soft like sweet icing sugar Dessert for the eyes
This new snow globe world Brief and fleeting as a breath Fantasy made real
I love snow. I’ve always loved snow. I like the way that life slows down when it snows. I like the reminder that fragile things – tiny, delicate things – like snowflakes, can have a huge impact and tremendous power.
A December snowstorm is a truly rare thing here in Virginia. The forecast has changed several times over the last hours, so I’m not sure how much snow we’ll get today, but I can tell you one thing:
I will enjoy every single millimeter and every single moment of it.
For days and days, we watch. And we wait – for the cold snap, the good pattern, full clouds and low pressure, the track and the timing, elements that must come together. Warm breath on the crisp air, red noses, chilly fingers, hats and gloves and hot chocolate in hand, we watch and we wait for the delicate promise of the season’s first snow.
Light and Shadow: We are made of both, and we choose how they balance. Each moment a call – to break or create, arms or alms, hate or a hand, action or none. This power is ours. Light or shadow, growth or fallow, only we choose.
To be tired down to your bones, right now, it isn’t so bad. Had things happened any other way, well, no one knows. Guessing’s an awful game. For now, right now, there’s rest. And soon, there just might be, I think there is, just there ahead, like it’s been waiting all along, light.
I am under construction – a permanent, perennial project, a living labor of love. A marvel of miraculous engineering made up of moments and memories, I am a fleeting, faltering, and flawlessly full of faults dawdling, dauntless daydreamer. A confounding collection of curiosities, a cacophonous convergence of creation, I am proud to be (persistently) (profoundly) perfectly imperfect.