Renaming

every small moment

Christmas at our local farm

If you’ve been following my Substack for a while, you know that this summer was a particularly difficult one for me and my husband. We both fell ill at the same time, and it was very difficult to care for each other, although we did our best. Each of us had a different illness, but my husband’s required a hospital stay. Thankfully, we are better now, but the whole experience shook us both to the core. The human body is so strong, yet so fragile. These days I wonder at the profound tenuousness of life when I think of all the tragedies around the world. It makes me shudder.

In early December we visited our favorite local farm and bought wreaths, greens, and a small tree for our back deck. Once we wrap the tree in colored lights, it’s our tradition to keep it lit, day and night, for the month of December and early January. One of our neighbors lives alone and says it’s comforting for her to look out the window at night and see the colorful tree. The lights shine into our own kitchen through the glass doors, and I find them comforting, too, during the darker days.

This year, visiting the local farm was a bright flame in my heart. After so much worry and sickness, to do this everyday, normal thing felt like nourishment after starving. Since I began feeling better this fall, my senses have been drinking in every moment of each day. I’m renaming the world around me with this new self who has begun to emerge. I don’t know her. And to be honest, I’m a bit afraid. But I’m following her lead. She is thirsty, open, grateful, and absorbs each minute as if it were a year. I’m not used to this and find I must weave time with the care of a spider. It’s good for me, I know, but I feel klutzy next to her nimbleness.

That day at the farm, woodsmoke spiced the air. The owners burned seasoned logs in a brazier and the smoke curled into the breeze like freed spirits. People laughed and chatted while purchasing their holiday decorations, dreams of days ahead wrapped in velvet bows. We did the same while the wind whispered songs in the trees and the holly berries glinted in the sun. The ground had been watered with so many tears, and this day grew from its fertile soil.

Thanks for reading my short little post today. I’ll have some fiction for you next time.

Until then, enjoy your small moments!

Jan