a snowy February morning
the world rising white
the crackle of the fire
rushed kisses goodbye
the remains of breakfast (and devotion)
rendering the table a piece of art…
bakery bread dipped in eggs from the farm up the road
the last of the August blues, steeped in maple and cinnamon
hot coffee, pressed and poured beside pink candlelight
(blueberry sauce recipe from: Kripalu Breakfast Savory & Sweet)
the soft descent of a saturday
the tender center of a cinnamon roll
the sweet cocoon of snow
an aimless afternoon
the crackling of the woodstove
the silence of day’s end
the hush of a fresh snow
pink light at night fall
first tracks on the hillside
When we first moved to Marlboro, in the winter of 2000, just after the baby was born and my mother was taken, it was the birches who soothed me–how they stood together–tall and thin and papery white.
But now I find my heart drawn to a single beech.
She stands out my window, in the east, beside the stone wall, ankle-deep in snow.
Her bark is almost chocolate and her lower branches cling to their leaves, aged to perfection–a tender blush–reminding me of spring.
Our oldest’s birthday has always marked the shift in seasons.
The rain comes, as it did yesterday, and then suddenly autumn whispers.
The breeze at the pond is too much for adults to swim, and the boys fall asleep earlier than they have all summer.
My husband and I finish a movie before 10, and after we turn off the tv, we notice light falling across our just finished floors.
Out the kitchen window, we spy the moon, perched between the evergreens–our trees–out our window.
We closed on the house today… and it seems to us that the moon is offering her approval.
Casey steps out on the porch–something he’s always dreamed of–and I join him there to say goodnight to the stars in the silent sky.
Just then, music comes screaming across the pond…
“I believe in miracles, since you came along, you sexy thing, you sexy thing…”
(We built our home on the same dirt road as a summer camp.)
I want to resent this intrusion, this robbery of perfection, but I always liked that song, sang it all the way down to Key West when I was 12.
There’s something funny about disco music playing across from our home in the woods. Serenity and dancing. The sublime and the mundane. It fits our family. Reminding us that miracles abound.
(kelly salasin, 2005)
“Be in a devotional relationship to your life force.”
(Shiva Rea)
On Saturday, we had one exquisite hour of hope: the sun shined and the temperatures rose above freezing for the first time in way too long of a time.
Everyone (and I mean, everyone) abandoned their snow encrusted homes on the hill and ventured forth to points east and south.
We were among those souls, stopping in town for provisions: the library, the pharmacy, the grocery store–and coming across handfuls of neighbors moving from place to place. We were like a village of ants. Not so much joyful or even relieved, as we were urgent about capturing this moment.
The clouds moved in later that afternoon, as did the rain, but before then we made our way further south, heading to a place with less snow and a larger art museum, where we came across yet another handful of neighbors who had done the same.
Then came Sunday. Frozen and cloudy and winter all over again. I checked the weather: more of the same on Monday. I re-read my daily inspiration: “Be in a devotional relationship with your body,” and I hatched a plan to do just that.
Monday came in dark and cold and heavy, but I followed through with devotion.
I headed south, alone, in my car, with my backpack and my journal.
I’d been to the Butterfly Conservatory at least once every winter before, but this time would be different. I wouldn’t just stroll through and then depart. I would stick.
I spent 3 hours on the same bench among the butterflies and the flowers and the warm moist air.
I sat. I drew. I read. I wrote. I even napped.
There was the sound of water. Of toddlers toddling. Of birds peeping.
There were scents of life unfolding.
And there was fluttering.
Constant fluttering of magic, color and wonder.
And then it was Tuesday. Today. Brilliantly sunny. Still frozen, but with temperatures climbing, promising true spring.
This Vermont Life 