Sunshine startles me through
thick gray patches of constant clouds.
I have almost forgotten what it is,
that thing we call the sun.
Naked trees whisper remembrances of seasons gone by while
cold wind shakes the few remaining leaves.
Here in the winter, the cold darkness dances its turn.
I shiver, longing for the light, the green, the warmth that is summer.

I am in the winter.

My tears turn to ice, when I let myself feel
all that is buried deep inside.
Like icicles they hang
suspended between gutters and earth.
Reaching but not reaching.
Striving but not arriving.
The lines between too much and not enough
impossibly blurred and I find myself
walking circles in the snow in a game I do not know.

I am in the winter.

I sink, exhausted, no place to go but within.
She holds me gently in a womb I remember.
Softy the wind whispers her song
of belonging and being enough, not too much.
Of life being remade and the glory of buds.
It is here in the cold, dark, stillness of winter,
that beauty is birthed and life is renewed.

I am held by winter.

My senses come alive when I breathe her in
and I feel the unseen life bursting forth.
The beautiful riot of spring,
the melting warmth of summer,
all the blazing color of fall
they begin here, in the womb of winter.
I turn my face to the patch of sunlight.
It dazzles me and I pick myself up.

I am learning to dance in the winter.

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Image courtesy of Adrienne Gerber Photography.