Three Dog Mom writes at Rev Gal Blog Pals,
“Here in Nashville the annual Antiques and Garden Show is getting underway. The temperatures are more cold and windy than is typical, and the garden displays with colorful spring blooms are going to be tonic for many of the souls that visit the show this weekend. Punxsutawney Phil may have predicted another six weeks of winter when he saw his shadow, but spring is on the minds of many!”
As I look out my window, I see not spring but winter advancing on the day. The sky is gray. There’s moisture in the air. On the Honeysuckle hedge that screens my view of the world beyond my study window—snow settling in on the leaves and fragile branches. And on the table where in the warmer months I take my morning coffee–a table cloth of soft snow.
At last winter is arriving in the Land of Enchantment. Yesterday, on my way home from work, a flock of snow geese was grazing on the golf course. Standing on the down side of a little rise was a coyote watching for an opportunity to snag a goose for his dinner.
On winter afternoons those snow geese and their traveling companions the sand hill cranes offer a special winter treat—the sound of wings flapping high overhead as the cranes make their way to their night rest on the river and the sound of snow geese honking their way to their river rest. A symphony of sound. A delight to ear and eye.
Best of all the winter light—soft, diffuse, gentle. Somehow that winter light has a way of holding the moment. There’s no way to capture the feel of that light through a camera lens. I think that’s because winter light speaks not to the eye but to the heart.
Winter—be it in my soul’s home New Mexico or in my heart’s home Minnesota—is an indoor season of smells and tastes, of friends gathered around a hearth or a table. Stew simmering on the stove (my husband makes a good pork stew filled with colorful vegetables), pinon wood burning in the fire (anyone who’s been to Santa Fe knows that delicious smell), even snow-soaked clothes have a smell to them worth savoring as they dry on a kitchen chair. In those rare moments when I venture out of doors, I head to a library, a bookstore or a coffee shop where others bundled in their winter garb escape the brisk winter air and settle into a world created by a book or magazine or newspaper from a distant place.
Let spring come when it does. I’m not anticipating. I’m savoring this winter moment.
P.S. There’s a postscript to this post. A caveat really. Winter has just arrived in New Mexico and it appears to be making a quick exit. I’m not sure I’d feel this way about winter if I were still living in Minnesota. After all, there are three or four months left of winter in Minnesota. I suppose that’s why flower shows are big in northern climes.