|Watching & waiting|
Tuesday, April 24, 2012
A winter's tale
The weather is turning in our neck of the woods. For the past two days we've had grey cloud sheltering us from the sun that, only a few weeks ago, still blazed in all it's summer glory. We've had soft autumn rains showering us at night in a gently rushing lullaby. Morning and evening temperatures are lower. The trees in our driveway are standing proud and upright in heartwarming reds, purples, ochres and burgundies. Late afternoons and nights are quiet. The voices of the bullfrogs, the crickets and the nightjars are still now. They too acknowledge the change in the season. That winter is almost here. That it is time to move inward. Time to become quiet.
And my own discourse seems to be just that right now. Erratic, energetic, random acts of creativity have been replaced by quiet contemplations. Creative meditative acts have taken the place of exuberant creative output. A state of hibernation has set in. A profound state of deep and silent regeneration and preparation. Like the still, sleepy development of an embryo. And with that, a quiet expectation that something beautiful and surprising will emerge from this cold and sleepy season.