Spring 96

Winter Musings and a Reflection on Summer

by Aine Arthen

I woke this morning with the sounds of northern winds humming outside. Lying in bed I listened to this winter's song, softly calling to me, speaking of the cold outside and the extremes I must bear to dance in these winds. The bitter cold causes me to forget that this weather has a beautiful presence all its own. I lay in bed listening, reminding myself of this beauty. I do not want to ignore the wisdom of winter because of my modern body's response to it. I want to learn to dance in its song as I dance in other seasons. The winter's cold is strong and blows through my clothes and my being, but if I remember to see into the winter's meaning, I learn this cold's purpose: a rest desperately needed given to all that grows.

All this snow and cold balances the drought of the past summer. The hot dryness of summer withered all but the essentials in life. Only the necessary survived. By the end of summer and into the fall, I felt as parched and worn within as my garden looked without. I was forced to trim back the plants for their own survival, sacrificing abundance for health and future stamina.

This applied to my personal life as well. A need to hold friends and be held; a near death in the family; another illness of a new friend; a cutting of ties that were painful; helping friends weather the winds that breaking free of abuse brings; a death of a close friend's parent; and the ongoing illness of another.

This was the spring. This was the summer and the early fall. But the late fall and winter have brought a strange, strenuous relief in the guise of piles of snow and blizzards. Again I am forced to look past all appearances - past the shoveling, the hassles in traffic, the school closings, the confinement indoors - to see this snow as what the Earth needs, no matter how inconvenient or how back-aching.

She needs the water. She needs the rest. She needs the insulation from the harsh summer sun and the cold dance of winter winds. This abundance of snow wouldn't have been my idea of bounty. (I might have preferred, instead, that the herb garden and my tomatoes were abundant). However, it was the excess of snow the Earth needed, not tomatoes, and she did what she had to for balance in the long run, and I find myself mirroring her lead.

I and many of the people I've talked to this winter have had to prune back in view of the long run. As I look back on the last eight months I see that I, too, did what was needed regardless of how it appeared or whether I wanted it. I wrapped myself and what I love with quiet and rest, care and attention, meaning to mend the scorching and bruising of the past. This I did so that what I cared about wouldn't die, but thrive....eventually.

Forcing fruitfulness would have hurt the land, the community and myself.

This has meant a lack of tomatoes this past season. I once regretted that lack, but now I see by Nature's teachings that strength and health in the long run is better and maybe even juicier. I won't know the outcome of this patience until next fall or the one after; yet, even with this in mind, I can't help being hopeful for the spring and summer.

I've rested this winter - dreamt and danced, surrounded by the winter wind. As spring draws near, I seek the vision of new life in the earth and in me as I hope and plan for the green and flowers of spring.