Seeking Refuge Within

Surrendering to late Winter

Hello, beautiful souls, I am humbled we have gathered again; let us face the elements of bitter rain and icy wind before finding refuge and warmth around our burning fires.

A milky white dawn filters through the curtains as I pull on my thick coat, hat and scarf so I feel cocooned from the early morning chill. It has rained during the night, and pools of icy water lie in my path, rippling with gentle movement. I step outside and breathe in the lingering woodsmoke and earthy dampness that weaves itself in between the slippery roots of the old Oak tree as it stands silent and sleeping. As I quietly close my front door, icy wind places cold fingers on my face and I pull my hat closer and my scarf nearer to protect myself from his circling, icy breath.

I feel hidden, like an animal deep in refuge, whilst Winter’s spirit continues his journey of damp, arctic footsteps upon the earth.

And yet as I begin to walk through the village, I feel the aliveness of late Winter and my own footsteps match this awakening by treading faster so I almost feel one with the racing clouds and the distant smell of rain in the air. Winter’s wild presence reminds me of exposed and untamed places; the crashing waves on a lonely beach, the barren path of a mountain trail and the emptiness of a vast moorland that stretches far and wide. I find comfort that in our ever – changing human world, Winter cannot be moved aside by the flick of a switch or a change of mind.

As I reach the old gate that leads down the hillside to the tumbling river, I think of the word refuge and how the animals that share the trails I walk seek their own unique sanctuary when winter storms claim the earth. As I gently close the gate behind me, I look down the hillside at sheep quietly grazing and reflect upon the many secret and hidden nests, dens and burrows which the earth herself has provided so the wild one’s can find safety, comfort and protection.

Hearing the rivers song from deep down in the valley I follow the direction of it’s voice, feeling the soft earth beneath my feet as I gently tread, leaving deep footprints that mix in with other solitary wanderers who have passed this way; foxes, deer and rabbits all who have returned to their refuge as the light of day becomes stronger.

Striding out with my hands deep in my pockets I hear a sound above the wind, a powerful beating of wings, a sound that speaks of an untamed spirit, a spirit of beauty, grace and strength, a bird that is as white as freshly fallen snow. It is unusual to see a lone Swan take flight and I wonder as she disappears into the morning mist, what she seeks and if the quiet dawn can provide her with shelter and rest.

I turn to look behind me and see in the distance, lights are appearing in my quiet village, I rarely meet anyone on my early morning wintry walks, but I sense both human and animals near. It is a dark January beginning to the day and does not endear outside adventure. Instead, cosy refuge is chosen, and I reflect on staying warm, bunkering down and waiting for the arrival of Spring’s light step; a cycle as old as time itself.

The river’s roar is louder now and symbolises all that is wild and free. I reach the pathway that takes me down towards the bridge, and I look upon the shiny cobblestones that lay scattered, embedded deep into the earth; all that is left from simpler times, long ago, when a pony and trap would have used this path as a route to the nearby ruined mill.

Reaching the bridge I gaze into the flowing river as it journeys ever on, never tiring or pausing; always travelling on to far away places I will never see. It is full and fierce for Winter’s spirit has cast his magic, and the river plays his part through a fast, flowing current that makes me reach for my hood to pull over my hat so I can retreat further behind my warm layers.

As I turn to retrace my steps I reflect again upon refuge and how to retreat has a different meaning. I felt sure the Swan I saw earlier was retreating; a sudden energy, from danger, disturbance or noise. The nighttime wanderers who walked the same trail as me just a few hours ago, seeked their refuge intentionally, somewhere familiar that meant safety and sleep.

As I feel the rivers voice fade once more, I realise I too must seek refuge. The morning light feels heavy and the first drops of icy, bitter rain fall upon the earth. It is time to return to warmth, to restoke the fire, to take gentle rest whilst looking out of the window at the rain and the first snowdrops swaying in the wind.

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