The Wilderness

Well, for the first time, someone in Nigeria has actually discovered my blog, or so Blogger says. If you believe him...

I have a unicorn meat eating cat sitting by my side purring, and swaying to the rhythm of the purrs. Ratty spent all day outdoors yesterday, rolling in the grass, and finding just the right spot to sleep in. And while I love balmy days, I used to love the ice storms we got every winter...and the arctic wind blowing snow. Global warming is moving a lot faster, I think, than some may believe. And so, I am happy to be finite, as I love all aspects of the Earth, and do not mind her cold and snow enough to wish it summer year round.

But you know that I love the bare bones of Winter by now. The darker colors of bark, the sharp shadows of the trees on the gold fields, and the stark, bright sunlight illuminate the goldenrod bones. There is no lack of color in the Winter, simply a more 'natural' coloring. The colors match the creatures of the forest now, and they drift slowly through the trees. They eat as they go, or sleep in dens...The dusky blue and purple and sand colors are more harmonious than the Summer colors, less riotous. Sometimes, a flash of a red cardinal goes from one branch to another, and the scent of pine underneath is intoxicating. A picked flower rolled between the hands drifts seeds and chaff into the wind and stillness. And my dog sniffs the wind.

This is the quiet, lonely time of the year, that we need to feel complete. There is a sense of the wildness of the wind in the season, that holds us to the edge of the forest. We listen and long for that of which we know but a little.

It is good for us to be lonely this way, to be scudded by the wind as if we were clouds. And clouds we are indeed, always passing. It is good for us to listen to the sound of the wind, as it blows around the world and back. And mountain dwellers know that the wind blows through the loneliest hollows of the earth, and  brings that sound back to us; the small winter groaning of the hills...and the music of the forests that live there.

We are wild creatures at this time of year, listening to the sound of snow, and the careful stillness that falls with it. I miss the echoes that come with the snow and the ice. And maybe you do, too. As we miss the fire that comes with winter...