The winter solstice has come and gone, the light is gradually returning and a new year has started. I feel a cultural pressure to usher in the new year with a flurry of activity, revved up with plans and goals.
But I want to hibernate. To heed the call of long nights to rest. To accept snow’s invitation to slow down and move inward.
Take the maple tree in my yard. She is not concerned with human calendars. She has dropped her leaves and slowed her metabolism to survive the winter. When the time comes, she will open her buds into flowers and leaves.
I sit, staring at the dancing flames in the fireplace. I am not thinking profound thoughts. Just watching, mesmerized. This is not a waste of time. Something is forming, percolating, being replenished in the stillness.
Renewal happens beneath the surface, where we cannot see it although we may sense it or have a wordless awareness. Like the ice-covered waterfall a mile down my road. When I pause, I hear the muffled sounds of water flowing below the snow and ice.
I welcome and respect the gifts of a New England winter (even as I complain about daytime highs in the single digits).
Knowing that I am not behind because I have not mapped out the next twelve months, or even this month, and trusting that plans will unfold in their right time.
Knowing rest has its essential restorative place in the rhythm of the year, just as it does in the flow of each day.
Wishing you rest in whatever form appeals to you,
Leanne M Every says
Beautifully expressed. I feel the rest that you convey in your words, and as precious, the permission to bask in it and even to protect it.
As an “aside”, I know that the time is coming when I will allow myself to purchase some of your lovely weaving and I might even already know the occasion though it might not know itself yet.
Until then, I will simply enjoy your musings and learn from your observations of life.
Marilyn Webster says
Thank you so much for your kind words, Leanne. Please do rest and protect your rest.
I look forward to that occasion that is slowly forming and when the time comes, you know how to reach me!
Warmly, Marilyn
Judy Murdoch says
As I write this I’m home with a cold. Although I get grumpy about being ill and feeling constrained I’ve begun to look at illness as a way to take rest seriously.
Thank you for the lovely photo and your thoughtful article.
with appreciation for you!
Judy
Marilyn Webster says
May you get plenty of rest and feel better soon, Judy.
jan washington says
Thank you Marilyn! You inspire me and reassure me in so many ways. I lost my Mom in late November after a three month illness and am attempting to restore and rejuvenate my creativity. Thanks for giving me permission to relax for a while and let life guide me. Blessings for the New Year, Jan
Marilyn Webster says
You are most welcome, Jan. I’m so sorry to hear about your mother. Please do relax and let life guide you, especially after such a huge loss. Blessings on your journey, Marilyn
Dana Zia says
WOW! Just found you today and feel so connected with your words and treasures that you share! I have been having a delightful time reading your lovely words that are woven together in as beautiful a way as your weaving. It is the perfect quiet winter’s night dreaming of weaving and beauty to come. I have signed up for your whimsy grams and look forward to drinking tea (I love tea!♥) and weaving with you even with an entire country between us. Thank you
Marilyn Webster says
I’m delighted that you found me, Dana, and that my words spoke to you. I’m glad we can connect across the country.