Due to a very sore back, I will not be posting for a few days. Enjoy something from last year, while I nurse my annoying, ongoing back issues.
The Loneliness of Winter
As I sit in the music room, high above my lifeless garden, I wrestle with the idea of how truly lonely winter can be. The trees, of course, are bare and the landscape cluttered with a cornucopia of browns and grays. Dark, frozen soil lumps in batches along the pathway to my porch. Deteriorating leaves protect the precious bulbs and perennial flowers that lay dormant several inches below the earth's surface. Time seems to inch by, waiting for the next gust of Arctic wind or various forms of frozen precipitation that trickle from the sky.
Days like today, when the sun seems to blaze across the winter sky, your soul ignites, if only for just a moment, showing us a small glimpse of the wonders of the illustrious spring season. Yet, when I stick my head out the back door, I feel the bitter winds of old man winter slash across my cheeks, as if to say, "Stand back mere mortal...you are no match for my wrath!"
My eyes had played a trick on me once again. What seemed to be a gorgeous, warm, mid-winters day, was simply another gloomy afternoon filled with the lonely sound of nothing. How much longer can we endure the sound of silence and the sight of death amongst our flora and fauna? Shall we too, strike the bell of Mother Nature and reenact some pagan ceremony hurrying renewal and birth? Or should we persevere and muddle through with tender thoughts of love waiting in haste for the spring solstice.
As I sit in the music room, high above my lifeless garden, I wrestle with the idea of how truly lonely winter can be. The trees, of course, are bare and the landscape cluttered with a cornucopia of browns and grays. Dark, frozen soil lumps in batches along the pathway to my porch. Deteriorating leaves protect the precious bulbs and perennial flowers that lay dormant several inches below the earth's surface. Time seems to inch by, waiting for the next gust of Arctic wind or various forms of frozen precipitation that trickle from the sky.
Days like today, when the sun seems to blaze across the winter sky, your soul ignites, if only for just a moment, showing us a small glimpse of the wonders of the illustrious spring season. Yet, when I stick my head out the back door, I feel the bitter winds of old man winter slash across my cheeks, as if to say, "Stand back mere mortal...you are no match for my wrath!"
My eyes had played a trick on me once again. What seemed to be a gorgeous, warm, mid-winters day, was simply another gloomy afternoon filled with the lonely sound of nothing. How much longer can we endure the sound of silence and the sight of death amongst our flora and fauna? Shall we too, strike the bell of Mother Nature and reenact some pagan ceremony hurrying renewal and birth? Or should we persevere and muddle through with tender thoughts of love waiting in haste for the spring solstice.
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