This Winter.

Part 1 of 4. An Exploration in seasons.

This winter, I find myself in a new town;
bearing deep in my body the shift through which the changing of seasons takes place.
I’ve never known the cold to be so cold these days,
With only so much chill these LA weathered skin cells can hold
before crying out for the warm familiarities of sun warmed palm trees
they quietly tell stories of change that exists,
in the subtleties of a place that lacks seasons.

-And if I knew any better –
I would pause before trying to recall the memories of weathered days unshifted,
How the winters hardly differed from the slowly rising growth of spring
Till the summer sweat drips from weathered backs in the heat of a sun
that feels like it only sleeps to have dreams of what it feels like to be young again.
For autumn falls into your lap beckoning the palm trees to give away its secrets to the wind,
carrying its fallen skin towards territories more inviting.
Like places where leaves fall from trees lining street sides that spill into gutters
like collection plates gathering offerings for mother earth.

And as my body cries out for seasons
I find myself in a new town just in time for the show.
The theater of trees.
Strong pillars, flaming beacons, raising up like a torch
Fire red branches, thrusting into the sky
fending off the inevitable elements manifested in winter.
Till the fallen leaves scattered,
become remnants of ash,
and how the earth gives way to the cold clouds of darker solstices
even when threatening to invade bones.
And it is here, through the seasons that I am learning to let go.

With the work of these hands I sift the remaining vestiges of a season
where the wondrous beauty of autumn
has found a way to touch so softly the silences of my soul
teaching my spirit, what will be demanded of my body  to survive in this winter.
And now.
And still.
The nakedness of bare trees show us how their vulnerability holds them still in the cold.
For they have never been given reason to lack faith.
Their time will soon come when life bears fruit.
Thin lines of black branches, break softly into the gray of foggy skies,
waiting through the cold days of winter with an elegance of stature
chillingly reminding us that death will always bring forth life.

They teach us that we fear so needlessly.
They ask us why we have forgotten how to read time.
And I am thankful that they are still celebrating in these cold days.
Cause our spring time is near, and I can feel the trees shaking with excitement.
For it was here in this season, that we are invited to learn how to let go.
And soon enough when we have nothing left to give,
nothing remains but a naked vulnerability where
Somewhere in our branches
in the places where we have kept our fanciest hopes warm,
A green leaf grows.
And we will know it isn’t winter anymore.
And our bodies will give thanks.

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One thought on “This Winter.

  1. d says:

    Made my morning.

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