There seem to be two kinds of days in winter: bright, sharply clear ones and dingy dark ones. Of course, that can be said about every time of the year, but in the winter, against the bareness of the landscape, they seem to fall in one of those two piles. Weather is a powerful metaphor for our own lives isn't it? Some days we feel so certain about our direction; full of clarity and purpose. Others find us brooding and worried and despondent with no prospects. Sound familiar? Those dark days, those are the ones we have to watch out for. When they sneak up on us, we feel ambushed. Yet, there are other times, when we ease ourselves into them, that they provide a space for reflection and even rest. The natural world rests in the winter. A good thing to remember when we are feeling low is we are part of that world originally. Its rhythms have a wisdom we often forget and some days we need to fold our tent and join it for a refresher course.
A rag rug of a landscape this morning---
remnants of dirty snow,
torn strips of muddy stubble field.
Behind the yellow windowshade of dawn,
is an enormouse, sunny room,
my grandfather's older brother, Lou,
wearing a woman's apron, blue and white,
bends stiffly away from the loom
upon which he's weaving the day
and rummages through his bag of scraps.
He needs one with a spot of green
to show me down here on the gravel road
stepping along in my winter coat.
Ted Kooser "Winter Morning Walks: one hundred postcards to Jim Harrison"
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