not a time of endings

The frenetic activity of the holidays has no place in the natural order here in the wintered west. The weak light is deeply slanted from the south. Most deciduous trees have shed their leaves and are resting. A range of migratory birds still find the occasional spider or a conifer bursting with seeds awaiting harvest or dispersal. And, the long nights and crisp days encourage a gentle sense of hibernation. The world around me is at rest, gathering silent strength for rejuvenation. Winter is not necessarily a time of endings. Like the conifer, it gives us seeds awaiting spring.