Certain winter weekends cry out for quiet. They demand a sense of stillness and tranquility. They want to whisper, to pad around softly on sock-covered feet, to wrap a cozy blanket around huddled shoulders. To hunker down with a book on a conversation couch, itself an exercise in coziness, the way it closes in on itself, creating its own nook and staving off the outside world. From this vantage point, one can watch the world go by beyond a bay window. The patches of snow grow and ebb, expanding and contracting as the winter days march onward.
On this couch, I set up shop. A cup of turmeric ginger tea sits on a marble coaster. A cone of white sage incense sends up curls of calming smoke ribbons. A piece by Max Richter plays in the background – the music that will inform this entire weekend.
It is a time of contemplation. Of consideration. A time for healing too, if we can reach that far. I’m still not sure we are there yet. Yet I’ve learned to accept that too, to find a sense of peace in the not knowing. Of this moment alone I am sure, and then it passes, and then the next. This is the way we make our way through the winter.
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