Slate Canyon
Dec 27th
It’s bright, and the sun shines its miraculous light even in the stereotypical bleakness of winter. But I don’t find it bleak.
To me the grays and browns add depth to my experience.
In any forest, new life obscures the view, and I consider it a gift to see deeper into the trees.
There is an entire world of rabbits, and birds, and squirrels that only becomes more visible in the carrion of winter.
I would choose green days over white or brown if given the choice, but there’s a cheerfulness to this winter sun and not just because it knows that spring will come again.
A soft wind nudges every sleeping tree as it passes through, and kisses my red cheeks. It makes me wonder why I ever dreaded this cold march into the new year to begin with.
Gently, the naked trees remind me that with death comes perspective.
Death means time.
Time means purpose,
purpose means direction.
But the sleeping trees rocking in the playful wind also remind me that this hibernation is simply a prolonged sleep, not a permanent death.
From what I know of loss, I wonder if that is too good to be true.
Regardless of the transience, I stare deeply into the other world. At each opportunity I look hungrily into the empty space and greedily fill my soul with answers to my questions.
I know that the clouds will roll through again over the canyon walls before spring, but when sun shines mid winter on slate, the past can’t seem to hold me hostage, and the future loosens it’s grip.
I’ve never seen a ghost, but I wonder if this is how it feels to be with one. I can almost hear the steps around me; almost feel their warm embraces again, and I wonder if maybe they are just sleeping too.
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