This week surprised me. I went from overjoyed at the snowfall to a deep, deep, deep quiet. This current stillness is welcoming a different phase in my life.
It’s another ‘first’ with soft jazz notes of aging.
There are no young children at home with a flock of friends running in and out.
I don’t have a thermos full of hot cocoa at the ready.
The basket of gloves and mittens is no longer on the front porch ready to be used by all.
The one pair of wet mittens are mine, next my quiet fuchsia hat dripping softly as they dry.
I’ve been fortunate to watch the sunrise over the most brilliant blue skies and again as she sets over layers of frozen. In between I’ve witnessed shadows as they’ve spent time dawdling and creating loving patterns in this icy sanctuary.
I’ve walked around this tiny home giving thanks for the warmth and caught myself with a rise of sentimental emotions somewhere between my heart and throat and eyes.
Tears are an art from one’s soul.
And it occurred to me, early this morning, that I am honoring a passage of my womanhood — my early mothering days have ended.
The last 7 years of transitions are settling into my bones with that female wisdom that sees, feels, creates, and nourishes — probably for the very first time — her own needs.
I know I should say, “my needs” but that’s not so easy to say.
I believe I’m almost understanding what relaxed must feel like. I had no idea how much I needed this freedom. This frozen space of quiet’s quiet.
This is my first snow alone — but not lonely. This is loving me for the first time.