daily haikusolstice dawn rising
golden mornings and evenings
spiritual feasting
Such a beautiful time of the winter, it never fails to lift my heart in awe of the beauty in this place. I was so lucky to have seen an "ad" in the newspaper in England so long ago (1964) and come to these gorgeous surroundings.
I was thinking this morning that one of the reasons I wanted to stay, besides meeting my first husband Bob, was because of the sunshine and huge expanse of blue sky. Looking back I might have suffered from SAD in the UK; the winters were long, dark and wet. Last winter was the worst of my life, hardly seeing the sun during long periods of time really exacerbated my grief.
Just lately I walk in Birney in the morning and then down the driveway and back in the afternoon just taking in the hills with their rifts hilighted by snow. I can see animal prints everywhere and know that, whatever I feel, I am not alone on the hill. Mouse tracks from under bushes, deer hoofprints everywhere, tiny prints on the patio from birds and chipmunks, pheasants peck under the fenceline and as I drive in lately I disturb a flock of Hungarian Partridge - now called Grey Partridge I think.
In 2003 I had an essay (prose poem?) published in Hard Ground IV: Writing the Rockies called At The Solstice. I think it shows my happiness at this time of year so I am posting it below. Happy Solstice time readers!
At the Solstice
Approaching winter solstice, I draw back the curtains in the morning light. I see long shadows from the rising sun, that highlights deer tracks in the snow, and touches trees, weeds, and hillsides, with pale gold light.
Later in the day, working at my computer, the low light shines through the window reflecting in my computer screen and I reluctantly lower the blinds. The cat loves the winter sunshine; seeks out puddles of sunbeams. She moves around the house, following the rays of light, and bathing her rheumatic joints in their warmth.
Later, when I put her outside, she acts as if she is going to her doom; one step and she’s face to face with the firing squad. It makes no difference that I tell her calmly, it is her work to chase the Pine Crows from the bird feeder so the little birds can fly in to feed; her baleful glance and switching tale tell me she thinks, “So – what?”
Approaching winter solstice, I draw back the curtains in the morning light. I see long shadows from the rising sun, that highlights deer tracks in the snow, and touches trees, weeds, and hillsides, with pale gold light.
Later in the day, working at my computer, the low light shines through the window reflecting in my computer screen and I reluctantly lower the blinds. The cat loves the winter sunshine; seeks out puddles of sunbeams. She moves around the house, following the rays of light, and bathing her rheumatic joints in their warmth.
Later, when I put her outside, she acts as if she is going to her doom; one step and she’s face to face with the firing squad. It makes no difference that I tell her calmly, it is her work to chase the Pine Crows from the bird feeder so the little birds can fly in to feed; her baleful glance and switching tale tell me she thinks, “So – what?”
As low clouds gather in the late afternoon, the sun hides behind them, the light turning thin, but still casting salmon-colored rays around each fold of vapor. The sun slowly lowers to the south and west, and long shadows form once more, this time from trees, fence posts, and the side of our house. The cat mews pitifully outside the door trying to tell me it’s cold out, there aren’t any more Pine Crows, and besides, it’s time for her afternoon snack.
I watch the evening rays slowly sink below the horizon, spreading their glow across the Buttes, the colors reflecting in the partially frozen river, in one last moment of glory. The cat is now inside gorging on Ocean Fish Dinner, and my husband lights the fire, ready to warm us in the long solstice evening ahead. I am content.
I watch the evening rays slowly sink below the horizon, spreading their glow across the Buttes, the colors reflecting in the partially frozen river, in one last moment of glory. The cat is now inside gorging on Ocean Fish Dinner, and my husband lights the fire, ready to warm us in the long solstice evening ahead. I am content.
