Not Long Now

A Winter Respite

Hello Beautiful Souls, I am humbled you are here with me. Come, let us gather around the fire, let us stay warm and talk about Winter’s passing and the light of what is to come.

One O Clock in the morning and all is dark.

I awake to hear the rain heavy against my single – glazed window and hear the latch rattle as the wind circles the cottage with restless energy that comes and goes with bursts of fury. Raindrops thud against the roof, cold and relentless; they pour down the guttering and the walls of the house to become part of the flow of endless water streaming past my front door.

Huddled under a thick winter duvet, I listen to the elements as their mighty power claims the darkness and Winter’s pointed staff of cold, icy rain, foreboding dark clouds and buffeting wind takes over the land.

There is a special magic about being cocooned, warm and safe whilst late Winter storms rage and battle. Winter’s spirit gains strength within the dark and I feel there is a message within the winds roar and the rains descent.

A final blaze of glory, a ferocious window of letting go of what remains; before the tide turns and his reign of ice and cold is over.

As I listen to the sounds as old as time itself, I think of those wild ones outside, hibernating, staying warm and safe within their protective cocoon provided by nature and the earth herself. I realise how I too must mirror their breathing, their warmness, their need to bury deeper into their dens. I wonder if they know this storm is one of the last, that Winter is living on borrowed time. I sigh and turn over, sending a quiet message to those patiently waiting.

Not long now.

I awake to the Robin singing. It is still dark, but the air is lighter. All is calm and I hear only stillness and gentle notes. I gently pad over to the window and peer out. The clouds have long gone and fading stars look down upon me, far away lights of glimmer and hope. Reaching for my thick jumper, I pull it on and make my way downstairs, to open the back door, a ritual I do every morning to sense, welcome and feel the morning air.

The storm gone, has left a cleansed feel, as if the old has been swept away, leaving only glistening dewdrops and silent, still trees, waiting patiently underneath the light of the far-away moon. As I breathe in the coolness, the aliveness, I hear the early alarm call of the Blackbird announcing the beginning of a new day, a day where Winter has retreated and a whisper of Spring is promised on the breeze.

Closing the door quietly, I switch on the kettle and as I gaze out towards the dawn, I reflect upon the coming of Spring and how the light slowly appearing is a promise of what is to come. Despite the storm, nature has shifted, has turned away from the icy hold of Winters grasp. I sense a longing, a looking up at the sun, a patient waiting for her soft cloak of smiling warmth and growth.

As I sip my tea I look out and watch the light gently emerging. Like a glimmer, that becomes a spark, that becomes a flame I watch as the sky becomes brighter and listen as the birds sing ever louder and the Snowdrops become visible like white beacons of hope outside my window.

Putting down my mug, I gather what I need to make my short walk over the village churchyard to the allotment and my waiting hens. Emerging with the dawn, they too have felt Springs message on the wind, they too have stirred and felt the rising energy alongside the growing light.

Closing the front door softly behind me I walk quietly through the ancient churchyard, vapours of mist hang below the stones and water drips from nearby trees. The dawn chorus is louder now, and I feel lifted as I reach the old gate. Pausing for a moment, I look up towards the sky. The darkness is now gone, and I sense without seeing the soft presence of the sun. With almost a month of daily rain, I sense the gift of respite, that Winter has, for the time being surrendered, to allow hope for what will come.

As I walk through the gate, I feel the familiar rays of long-ago warmth on my face and notice how, overnight, a yellow primrose has emerged from hibernation and has turned its petals towards the sun.

Not long now.

Thank you for taking this gentle rest with me. I am humbled you have joined me.

If you would like to travel alongside for longer you are warmly invited to subscribe to receive my weekly free Nature’s Seasonal Letters. I would be honoured to walk this path with you.

Sending seasonal warmth to you all

Clare