Full moon reflection on our snowy home

It was always going to be this way

January 16th, Home on a Snowy Day, My Journal

8 inches of snow rest unbothered on the dense, winter earth, and the skies are still open. The wind howls from the North for who would want to miss an opportunity to shape such a landscape. I sit in my morning spot, and I watch through the window as the smoke from the stove dances with the gushes of snow twirling off the roof as the wind says hello.

It was always meant to be like this, and it was always going to be. I smell coffee. I hear the laugh of my beloved downstairs as the waves of possibility — those precious ones after the first sip of a morning’s coffee — are shared with her dear friend — someone I, too, and coming to love. Another cherished presence will join us soon from his home in the cabin, and the togetherness of the day will commence on this white landscape of new beginnings.

I, and the house and the land as a mirror, feel so perfectly full. Two winters — many snows — we sat through the emptiness and its teachings. We grew wider as the emptiness slowly and surely brought down the walls we’d built around our heart. In this time, I stretched — and the house and land, too — to be able to hold the Bigness of what was coming. We deepened so our roots could steady us in what would call us forth. The clarity of snow became a place for our tears in those years. Tears speaking to momentary encapsulations of peace in a chapter with a lot of hurt.

And now, that falling away — that Grace to have emptiness come and clear me out — I can be with this fullness in some Rightness. I can hear the walls of the house singing as they feel the energy from the hearts of its inhabitants. I can see the logs eager to join the fire to provide warmth for being people together in just this way. I hear the cast iron begging to be used, to be the conduit for memories of nourishment that need no permanent form. I see Rose’s ease and her excitement as we take our first playful steps in the snow — her knowing that Papa will get to walk inside to a fullness that hasn’t been there in preceding years’ snow.

The snow builds as I write — maybe another inch or two already — and I feel it, too, saying “bring the spirit you’ve cultivated to me. Shape me. Play with me. Notice me, like only you can. I’ve been waiting for hands to touch me that stem from the heart.”

So, yes, it was always going to be this way. And it had to be every other way it was before this way. Without it, I would not have had enough space around the fullness to see it for what it was.

The power flickers, and I have some prayers to make before I fall into these days of togetherness. Finally, able to meet it for what it is.



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