Late November and the Waning Sun

The days are getting shorter. When I awaken early, it is still dark and I am fooled into thinking it is still night. It's been an extraordinary November--filled with mild sunny days and cool star-filled nights. I'm finding my muse again--beginning to reserve some early mornings for writing. I feel out of balance when I go too long without paying attention to my art.

Kira wrote that it snowed in Antarctica and she never tires of snow. I don't completely share her passion for winter weather. I love the first snows--pristine and unexpected. Looking out my window from my hilltop view, I feel serenity until March, the longest month. By then I am craving light and warmth. The grayness of the days and lack of anything growing begins to nag at me. I follow cold rain eagerly, hopeful that soon there will be small sprouts and flowers pushing through the intractable ground.

Now I am settling in--awaiting the long evenings with stacks of books I want to read. Although I have far less time in winter, I seem to do most of my writing on cold, dark mornings when I am the only person awake and the tops of the trees are just beginning to be fringed by light.