In the late afernoon, there is a relaxing of energy. The warmth has filled everything and there is no tension. The song birds are resting but the hawk flies overhead in its hunt. The wind has also stopped as if the earth has slowed her breating.Slowing my pace, I can no longer hear my footsteps as I leave the concrete and enter the sandy path.
For me there is a sadness in the twilight that descends upon a winter afternoon. I want the afternoons to last longer. The quickly approaching evening puts a rush on the enjoyment of the late afternoon, which in winter is a small window that gets smaller and smaller. A winter day is like a big cold house with only one small shrinking window. There is great joy on the day the window reaches its smallest size and the joy is in the knowing that the window will then start growing. It grows slowly and with each expansion my spirit opens up a bit more. I look forward to summer when I can live in a glass house and the afternoons last seemingly forever.
I stop on my walk and turn my face into the sun as I look at a grove of bare trees. Those trees surely also celebrate the afternoon's imminent expansion. Unlike me, the trees don't miss a minute of sunshine from living in a house. Their measure of the afternoon is precise and they seem stoicly patient. If they crave the summer as I do, they do not show it. They are in tune with the cycles and seasons while I have always fought it. If there was ever a teacher to teach me the joy of the darkest day of the year it would be a tree. It is only our resistance that shields us from our joy. Standing still, I feel the warmth of the sun on my skin and I try to feel the warmth of the sun on the bare branches of the trees. Communing with the trees, I surrender my resistance and feel the joy of the afternoon. The trees tell me that joy cannot be measured by a clock.
Happy Solsticetime everyone!
For me there is a sadness in the twilight that descends upon a winter afternoon. I want the afternoons to last longer. The quickly approaching evening puts a rush on the enjoyment of the late afternoon, which in winter is a small window that gets smaller and smaller. A winter day is like a big cold house with only one small shrinking window. There is great joy on the day the window reaches its smallest size and the joy is in the knowing that the window will then start growing. It grows slowly and with each expansion my spirit opens up a bit more. I look forward to summer when I can live in a glass house and the afternoons last seemingly forever.
I stop on my walk and turn my face into the sun as I look at a grove of bare trees. Those trees surely also celebrate the afternoon's imminent expansion. Unlike me, the trees don't miss a minute of sunshine from living in a house. Their measure of the afternoon is precise and they seem stoicly patient. If they crave the summer as I do, they do not show it. They are in tune with the cycles and seasons while I have always fought it. If there was ever a teacher to teach me the joy of the darkest day of the year it would be a tree. It is only our resistance that shields us from our joy. Standing still, I feel the warmth of the sun on my skin and I try to feel the warmth of the sun on the bare branches of the trees. Communing with the trees, I surrender my resistance and feel the joy of the afternoon. The trees tell me that joy cannot be measured by a clock.
Happy Solsticetime everyone!