During the winter months, when work schedules don’t adapt to the reduced daylight hours, it is dark both when I leave for work, as well as when I come home. This means my morning and evening walks with my dog, Willow, are also in the dark.
I am particularly aware of this this week because I am participating in an online class called Wander + Wonder, led by my Australian artist friend, Natalie Eslick. The class is comprised of 5 modules, each focused on one of the senses.
The first sense explored in the class is sight. She describes a wonderfully lush green scene in her backyard – the many shapes and textures of the various bushes and trees and the bright color flashes of birds like galahs and cockatoos that here in frozen Wisconsin we only see in our dreams and sadly in cages.
We were encouraged to share a progressively detailed description of our own view. At first my heart sank, being jealous of Natalie’s robust voluptuous summer view. But with an open heart and open eyes, I proceeded to be particularly present on my dark walk.
With open eyes and open heart,
I see magic unfurl before me and
I know that I am infinite
Willow and I crunched along down the snow packed sidewalk. My alertness heightened as I saw movement in front of us. My attention focused just in time to witness a tiny vole scurry across the snow in front of us. In a flash it’s fuzzy dark outline had disappeared under the safety of a nearby bush.
Street lights and the moon provided just enough light that the trees emerged from the deepest shadows as stunning silhouettes, an intricate network of black lines dancing on the snow and against the darkest of blue skies. The image is stark with its limited palette of cold colors, but my heart warmed and swelled as I cradled the knowledge that it is only at this time of year that these patterns are visible and not hidden behind the cloak of summer leaves.
And then the sun just barely began to rise. Super vibrant pinks and oranges peaked through the black tree outlines. White along the horizon transformed minute by minute to blue as the sun rose. It was so cold that the steam from the university heating plant was moving like a glacier through the air. The billowing white mass gleamed against the shifting sherbet colored backdrop.
Blankets of orange and pink wrapped around me as the universe held me in her hands. My jealousy rapidly disappeared as I noticed more and more details of my dark winter landscape. In the process it occurred to me that what I was seeing was every bit as intricate as Natalie’s view of the Australian summer. My view is in no way less than. It is just different.
Connecting with Natalie on the other side of the globe in the Southern Hemisphere helps me keep perspective on the balance of the whole planet and the magic that I am experiencing is but a tiny piece of what is going on. I am working to fully appreciate and experience what is here right now while the days are short and it is -23C. For the 30C weather that is currently in Australia will come here soon enough, and if I long for the Australian lushness too much, I will miss out on the amazing unique diversity of experiences that is here right now.
January 21, 2022 at 9:24 pm
Oh Heather, such beautiful words! I felt right there on the walk with you, and it was truly wonderful!
January 22, 2022 at 1:16 am
I loved reading “Winter Reflections”. It filled me with gratitude knowing that where I am right now is just where I need to be. I feel inspired to inhale slowly and deeply as I continue to walk through this winter wonderland with eyes wide open.
January 23, 2022 at 9:41 pm
Lovely piece capturing a beautiful moment in wintertime!
Our snow has melted here near Seattle. We’ve had days of thick fog. I’m heading to a local public garden later today to see if anything is poking through the ground. It gives me a little spark of energy to notice what nature is up to even when it appears to be too early for new growth. There’s a huge rose garden there too that will be nothing but circular rows of thorny stumps right now. I return every couple weeks from now through spring, summer & fall to experience the seasons in each of their cycles — waking, blossoming, & falling back to sleep for winter.
Thanks for sharing your winter sunrise walk!
April 6, 2023 at 7:00 pm
I’m not sure why I am only now seeing this comment. I love those first plants poking through the ground every year. Year after year this process seems no less miraculous and never loses its power to lift my spirits. May you find energy and hope in the new growth of spring.