The last few days have been shockingly cold. The beauty that I once idolized in the marmalade, honey, and curdled palettes of burgundies, burnt oranges, and mustard yellows, has somewhat departed. My garden (yard) owns nothing more than grey skies that tumble across the bare limbs of nude branches, and there’s very little life observed in comparison to the hoard of animals who pass through during warmer seasons. Although, I still have my family of deer, which is comforting. Six females altogether; two mothers and four children.
There remains a sweet, damp residue within the air of this in-between cycle and while the woods may no longer be within the saddle of autumn, they’re not quite within the foothold of winter either. Everything is on the cusp of beginning and ending. Despite this upcoming crossover of seasons, when autumn welcomes its wintry counterpart into existence, I have found sunlit angles of barrenness to appreciate. I’ve even collected a few fallen limbs from my landscape of trees; some hickory and others red maple, some from my bald cypress, and some toppled branches from my cedars. I’ve set them aside for Yule décor, once they’re dry from the early December showers we’ve been having. I can’t begin to emphasize the incredible scent they’re bringing to my kitchen.
As with most people who miss those who are no longer here with us, I spend much of December thinking of both Bambi and Bronson. Bambi’s birthday falls on the winter solstice (December 21st) and the two things seem to fuse as one perfect timing. As I consider all that encompasses this enchanting time of year, I can’t help but hear Bambi’s words within the wind, faintly echoing the sentiments of winter rest and hibernation. She has always cared about my wellness and a little thing like her death doesn’t change that. It's during this period of descent that we seek to hibernate within the warmth of our homes; seeking time with ourselves as we reflect on all that has passed during the long year. It's the time when we frame our tired limbs and burdened minds in front of tender fires that offer comfort and revival. It’s the time of year to enjoy great flavors sourced from winter fruits, veggies, and spices, like roasted butternut squash soup, mulled wine, and minced pies, and it’s the time of year to roast caramelized chestnuts on open fires.
The arrival of the winter solstice is the time of year when we must nurture the ebb and flow of the remaining season. It’s a time when nature guides us, bringing us inward, to shield, harbor, and restore us through peaceful surroundings and creature comforts. It’s these comforts that’ll see us through the sedative winter darkness until spring's glorious light. What a gift it is that the winter solstice offers us this period to enjoy, foster, and harness our inner selves. By focusing on ourselves, including reflection for conclusion, realization for accountability, and recognition for healing, all whilst embracing the wintry darkness as a tool of forgiveness to pardon those who’ve done us wrong – including pardoning ourselves – we succeed at embracing the end of a chapter while being prepared for the new beginning.
Winter is beloved. It's the deep inhale before the new year begins. An arcane time, wistful and sincere, with the promise of changing light, changing seasons, and changing approaches, outlooks, and convictions. It’s the sacrosanct time before the earth (in the western hemisphere) reawakens with renewed energy and sunlight. What I want to take from the transition of late autumn to early winter is the self-reminder that my respite is as merited as the respite of others; something which I have consistently failed to navigate. It’s also my wish during these next few months of hibernation and calming volumes, to find value in my boundaries by enjoying them and thriving within them as much as just seeing them as a one-dimensional task of protection. I’m an introspective person – some would say that’s the spine of being a writer – and while I tend to self-examine as a means for self-improvement, I’m excited to spend much of December pushing myself to forge a deeper connection with myself. Or at least the parts of myself that frighten me. You know, the truly powerful parts of ourselves that are intuitive and clairvoyant, as well as all the other parts of our feral and extrasensory selves that we humans have suppressed as civilization has progressed. There feels something extremely vulnerable in “typing that out loud” which is fair because in truth, I need this period of recovery and reset, and I need to unpack and come to terms with all the trauma that 2023 has caused my family and me.
I’m probably going to butcher this quote by Marcel Proust (Du côté de chez Swann), but he states that there’s enormous “comfort within the season of reclusion, and it is as fair as the poetry of hibernation.” Such beautiful words that summarize the expectant rest that remains ahead of us.
(Artwork via (433) Pinterest)
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