Deep Winter

#7 Slipping back into a writing routine...

Muted light of dawn in the winter. Cold air filling my lungs: piercing cold, daggers in my breath. Feet pushing against the trail. Half moon overhead. Sunlight starts to peak from beyond the horizon, stars fading as the sky shifts towards daylight. I remember all the times I’ve been on this trail…. So many early mornings throughout college. The 4th of July I ran until my legs were screaming, pushing to the top of a ridge, perching on a rock as glittering fireworks began exploding across the cityscape. The first foothills run with my son growing in my belly, still too small and abstract to have shared the news with anyone but my closest friend. Wondering how long it would take for my abdomen to swell to a size that limited my ability to move with such freedom. Not fully comprehending that this freedom would never again be the same. Motherhood changes us. At least, it changed me. And this landscape has held me through all of my changes. My twenties saw me through the stumbles and shifts as I moved from adolescence into adulthood… I’d been convinced I knew best, and was fully capable of taking care of everything myself since I was in grade school. So it has been a shock in my twenty-ninth year to come to terms with the fact that I need support. That there is so much that I truly do not know. That I can trust my instincts, and would be wise to slow down from time to time. That change is the only constant.

Ofrenda in Mexico City. Photo by Hayley Harper

I have needed to take some space to recenter in the midst of the massive transitions that have been underway; in my personal life, the political landscape, our community, the world… Last fall catapulted me from what I thought the rest of my life would look like, into a fragile state, ripe with new possibilities and plenty of fear. Writing continues to bring me a sense of rootedness; processing thoughts through scrawling journals, awe and inspiration from reading a particularly vibrant passage, expansiveness with a blank page laid before me, wonder in the ability to carry our personal voice through ink on paper. Leaning into writing with more regularity throughout this shifting season to cultivate a creative practice of exploration and expression.

Persimmons in the sun. Photo by Hayley Harper

Deep winter. Though the sun begins to make a gradual return, the coldest days are still before us. This is the season we pray for snow, dancing in the flakes when they grace us, pleading for the moisture they’ll provide as the year goes on. Deep winter. The reflective, quiet, dark time that urges us to pull inward and reflect on the year past and the one ahead. The darkness and chill of the season, equal parts confining and liberating. The lack of urgency lending to a slower pace, bubbling braises and extra pours and firelight casting its shadows across cozy scenes. On the flip, the long frigid nights forcing us to face ourselves, our skin itching for warm rays, our minds burdened by the heaviness of our psyche. Deep winter. This season of rest and reflection, rebirth as we let one year go and move to embrace the one ahead. The habits and routines that are our own, but also belong to those who came before us. Milking the goats. Transforming their richness into cheese. Planning the garden. Tending the fire. Planting the seeds. Extending kindness and care to my people. Exploring possibilities for the year ahead. What will be sown now for prosperity in the years to come…