day 2: the last time I went outside

The first snow fell on the first day of the year and continued to blanket the world all day long.  This morning, the sun was radiant in a clear blue sky and everywhere light reflected off glistening rooftops. Steam billowed from furnace vents and swiftly turned invisible. Spiny trees frosted, dark and light in full contrast.  Skeletal shadows shifted over white pages. Jagged lines stretch across the horizon. Silence everywhere, except the crunch beneath my feet.

I am unapologetic in my love of January and the beauty of winter.  Blame my Northern roots, my Nordic bloodline, or my melancholy artistic soul.  January is dripping with poetry. It is rich with the juxtaposition of life. The natural world bends to stillness.  The work of resting and waiting happening everywhere, while we only see death. Native seeds count their days in the shadows until they are called to light.  Outside is cold and dark, so we light fires and dress in soft, warm layers.  Meanwhile, all earthly layers of adornment, the colors and frills are stripped away, save the holly berries and evergreens.  We are invited to this same rhythm.

An open invitation to rest in the knowing that good things take time.  

It is bitter cold, a single digit of degrees, but in my warmest clothes and steaming coffee in hand, I stand with my face to the bright winter sun and feel all of this.

I walk through the garden and notice garlic shoots and kale greens popping through the thin layer of snow.  Hollyhock stems may succumb to the frost, but life of the plant remains resilient underneath. I pluck a few springs of hearty thyme to throw in the crockpot with apples, honey, and pork that will cook all day and rejoin my family inside.