December is Blue

Winter up here is normally celebrated as white.  And yes, the snow does fall on a regular basis.  We were even surprised this year to have a significant snowfall for Thanksgiving.  "Over the river and through the woods" being more typical for Christmas 'round here. 

But in the mornings, long blue shadows lie across the land over the cover of snow, and in the evenings - they come so early - day dwindles quickly into long blue twilights.  Dark night is the theme of the season, more than the unreliable snow.   For the snow falls and then fades in a manner of days, but the cold, and the long dark nights, will be with us for the next few months. 

This year has been one of many changes.  This journal has seen less attention from me as I have been out in the world, madly living.  My mother sold her house (that which was my Grandparent's prior) and moved in a brave moment to the Boston area to live with her sister.  I spent the early part of the year trying to help her divest herself of much of her belongings, and then the middle of the year bringing my house to a place where I felt comfortable hosting her going away party.  The garden, subsequently, waited in the background.

In the latter half of the year, the trial that I had been dreading for several years loomed over my head, and then miraculously went away.  And  Mark's grandmother, having reached her stated goal of ninety, quietly slipped on amidst the presence of her children. 

All of the highs and lows that make up a life have been mine this past year.   But here, as the year winds down in the cold short days, here I find that December is blue. 

I'm not alone.  I look at the many friends I have met through my sidebar links and I see the same patterns repeated.  Stress.  Sadness.  Loss.  Grief. 

In the blue days of  winter, we are housebound.  Severed from our ties to the earth, everything seems to take on a larger aspect.  Those blue shadows loom.  Not for nothing is this a season of lights. 

From the early fires of midwinter festivals to the candles on the tree, from the yule log taking a full night to burn to the hope given by an extraordinary star, we fill the winter with light.   We drape our houses in lights, burning away the darkness, filling our yards with candles, with stars, with thousands of surprising fireflies - blinking and winking and driving the cold away as we gaze in amazement.

While the garden rests, we fill our eyes with another form of color. And wait for the garden catalogs, full of tools, full of plants, full of seeds and the promise they hold of the next season... of new life springing from the cold ground... of the hope that dwells deep in all of us...

Outside these walls today, the snow is falling.  Tomorrow will be a bright day.

Comments

[Kathy]

Thank you. A perfect description of the northern-ish experience of winter (Arctic Circle excepted)--and it puts things in perspective.

[jenn]

Hey, good to hear from you, Kathy. Are you resting that hand?

[Paul]

I've been unlucky enough only to get drips and drabs of snow thus far, even if I live further north.

But our time will come too, and the land will sleep underneath a white blanket here, too.

[Arref]

I love that.
You cheered me.

[Sally]

Wonderful post. Thank you. (Love the pic, too!)

[kathy]

Am resting my right hand by typing left hand only. Gotta quit feeling sorry for myself and make some difficult decisions.

[jenn]

Hey, Sally!

That's my oversized Chihuahua, Hoggle of Hogglebog.

When the sun shines in those southern windows, all us housebound critters tend to cluster in that warm light.