…or a ‘Winter Song’ to see us through the season.
This is my winter song to you.The storm is coming soon,It rolls in from the sea
My voice; a beacon in the night.My words will be your light,To carry you to me.
This is a cute one, with a cute video. As much as I’ve been trying to make a certain peace with winter, there are still days, when the morning is especially dim and frigid, that it gets to me, and brings me down a bit. Shivering in our attic loft, I look out the window and down into our little side-yard. It is my secret space in summer – hidden from the main backyard patio and pool area by an archway of coral-bark maple and the papery, peeling trunks of the seven sons’ flower tree, and blocked off from the front yard by a wooden fence and arbor covered in a climbing hydrangea.
I remember that scene now, as I look onto the top of our grill covered in snow, and a pair of chairs equally obscured. It is only slightly sad, because I know what’s underneath it all; I remember. In a few months, the spikes of the fountain bamboo will slowly appear, and if we’re lucky, and the rabbits haven’t eaten them again, the stems that carried over from last year will leaf out and begin their graceful arching. The fiddleheads of the Dixie fern will unravel their hairy coils, joined soon by the more delicate unfurling of the Japanese painted ferns. A lilac tree – offspring of a plant that Andy’s Mom left him over twenty years ago – will lift up its branches and offer bouquets of heavy and fragrant blooms, bringing them almost to the window of the attic, from which I lean out and breathe in, hoping to catch some of the perfume on the wind. All of this will come again, I remind myself.
I still believe in summer days.The seasons always changeAnd life will find a way.
I’ll be your harvester of lightAnd send it out tonightSo we can start again.
Thoughts of summer days are good, especially if one can merge them with an appreciation of winter as it unfolds around us. I’m working on enjoying the moment, while holding the sunny thoughts in my head. Somewhere far ahead a sense of Zen barely looms – happily, elusively, tantalizingly out of reach – ever out of reach, and may it remain that way so the journey never ends.
This is my winter song to you.The storm is coming soonIt rolls in from the sea.
My love a beacon in the night.My words will be your lightTo carry you to me.
Is love alive?Is love alive?Is love alive?
