Dear Winter

Dear Winter, 
In this time filled with expectation and too-much-busy.
I thank you for the reminder to slow down and stay simple.

I wish for connection deep in my bones, 
community built around the table,
bowls of soup and tea in hand,
conversation rich and deep and true.
Images of glossy tables replaced with the imperfections of my worn wood table— 
the one that reminds me daily that we have lived here,

I want my life to be lived in.

"Real people live here," my eldest son said years ago,
when I complained of the stain on the carpet that wouldn't come out.

Yes. Real people live here.
People who don't know all the answers.
People who are doing their best and finding their way.

fir tips-michelle-gardella

Dear Winter,
I remember you from my childhood—
snowflakes on my lashes,
cold, wet feet,
and holiday songs sung FULL out under the night sky
for an audience of angels and sky and stars.

I long to sing that way again,
to feel the music so deeply within me that I am transported to heaven in a moment.

Dear Winter,
I want to laugh this season...
To laugh so hard that the house shakes.

Dear Winter,
I bow to you in gratitude for this life I have.
I see my way, through your beauty of darkness, 
early and magnificent sunrises through my office window each morning. 
Full moons and new moons
pivoting my direction...
breathe in
breathe out.

The fires around my world have brought me to an edge...
an edge of acceptance and then to Fierce Grace.
The kind of grace that brings it all in...
the moment when everything is crystal clear...

Until it isn't, and I cycle through it all in this human life.

Oh Winter,
you remind me (just as the moon does) that there is time to expand and a time to retreat.

This winter I will
gather with my people and invite new folks to my circle.
I will stretch my recipe collection to include foods that my children want,
not just the foods that I want for them.
I will slow down
I will read
I will serve
I will teach
I will sleep

I will give grace and love to all that I hold dear...