This is the color of light in today’s early morning in the Northwest corner. The light is the call for me this morning, the thing that tossed me out into the day to capture what it is doing to the cows, the grass, the fence, the trees.
I am grasping at the remains of the summer’s warmth. Mamacita, the feral cat we feed, the mother of Precious and Obadiah who live with us, is starting to huddle on cold mornings. I’m with her.
So the question becomes how to stay open in the cold? The cold of dullness, of lack of inspiration, of frigid air, of fear. Of course there are warm clothes, hot tea, a blazing fire, meditation, yoga, all of the usual amenities.
What I found in moving here is that when the snow really comes, it stays, and the mountains and the fields become crystalline. Ecstatically white. The skeletal outlines of the trees are revealed – each one a distinct anatomy, forming spines along the ridgelines. Winter here for me is a time of creative winnowing, stripping to the bone, and digging into the essence.
Today, though, it is warm, almost balmy, with the undertone of cool in the late afternoon. I am swimming, but can feel that my body is not fully extending, that I can’t quite lengthen into my most luxuriant strokes. My breath comes shorter. I am holding back. I feel the chill.
So my question today is: How do you stay open in the cold?
