The season has grown old. Bare trees reach for the pale blue sky with grey twisted fingers, their feet sprinkled with the now dull remnants of their Autumn glory. The air is cold and sharp with the spicy scent of decaying leaves. Here and there a tree still glows crimson, all the brighter among her naked kin. Yet even she will soon join the others in somber winter hue.
It is the waiting season, a time when growth takes place quietly below the surface. This is true both in nature and my own life. My impatient ego chafes at the stillness and silence. I want to see progress. To calm this urge, I find it helpful to look back on the growth the past year has brought to me. It has the effect of making me thankful for what I have experienced and allows me to see what may be silently sprouting now.
Winter last year brought the life shattering end of an 18 year marriage. I was grateful for the quiet of that dark season as I fought to heal and regain a sense of myself without the person I'd thought to spend my life with. Everything came to a halt for a time. Yet the healing came, and I began searching for who I am alone. I found her. That girl long fettered by the chains of adulthood broke free full of passion, energy, joy, and love. I tasted life in all its sweet and bitter flavors, tested myself and those who would share my finite time in this world, and sifted the golden wheat from the glittering, but worthless chaff. I know who I am, where I want to be, and who is worthy to share my life.
Rather than healing, this winter will again be one of quiet growth. My plans have just begun to sprout and are pushing pallid roots deep into the soil of my existence. So I shall be patient and look forward to seeing them spring forth when the light half of the year returns once again