Frozen.
The sting of winter; all that knows it seek hibernation or death. Except those with allergies; we love the weighty blanket; covering all our vulnerability and illness; protecting us from that which harms… let someone else be sick for a change. Let the trees hold us up with their arms, they are used to carrying the heavy snow. The leaves are strong enough to handle it; as they continue to feed the mycelium and mychorrizae. Most of us with allergic tendencies could feel ill from the exact forested wonder that holds us up. How do we create the symbiosis (just like the mycelium) so the beauty feeds us instead of kills us?
Winter Cabin Life.
We’ve got our own Abruzzi Spurs brewing over here, right outside the front door. With all this white dust, we could be entombed in no time! Plus the roof slide avalanches, death zone dangers, and all sorts of fatal freeze… Living in Wyoming means, we’ve got to watch our step (always) – even out the front door! If you’re in a cabin, like we are, the metal roof slides down right in front of our porch. I’m not sure why the homes are built this way, maybe the snowfall wasn’t as huge back then… 
Buried in Snow.
Graves. Winter is a time for frigid funeral, whether you’ve got snow ice or not. It’s the opportune time for bringing out your bones and resting deep within; dug for death. Buried. Similar to these floating leaves; that bury in the sky underneath the frolicking flakes of frozen snow.
Frozen Forests.
Even the forest and foxes rest
, knowing the flowers are a future away (almost here in some parts). For the rest of us, we’ve got to breathe deep. To patiently Wait. It will soon be over. This is our one chance to concoct our renewal, our urgent survival; to quietly prepare for what happens in a few short months. We prepare by saying goodbye, by letting go. Root within, dive below.
, knowing the flowers are a future away (almost here in some parts). For the rest of us, we’ve got to breathe deep. To patiently Wait. It will soon be over. This is our one chance to concoct our renewal, our urgent survival; to quietly prepare for what happens in a few short months. We prepare by saying goodbye, by letting go. Root within, dive below.
Some of us, myself mostly, are holding on so tightly to those frail bones of past, hoping they don’t snap to pieces in my brittle fingers, wanting so desperately for this resurrected death to somehow magically bring new life which clearly can’t occur in something dead, but I “hope” on continued, regardless. It’s time to dig deep. Release. And Bury.
Snow Shovels.
It’s time to dig deep. Release. And Bury.
What kind of skeletons are you trying so desperately to hold on to, feeding to keep alive in the midst of the harsh freeze… What frosts are biting you, nipping your thoughts and fears of letting go?
