There is something about winter that makes me slow way down: the cold night air, the naked tree branches, the dried flower buds holding on for dear life–all are living proof that winter has arrived and the time to go inward is here.
There is an art to slowness, although it takes time to master. My mind still runs a mile a minute with things that need to be done; my body whispers, “What’s the big hurry? Enjoy the slowness, the dormancy of nature, this organic tapestry weaving time and energy together to restore and bloom come spring.”
And so, there is not much of the garden left. The cold night air and brisk winds have taken the last of the vineyard leaves down.
This time of year makes me want to curl up by a warm fire and read a juicy book.
One of my favorite past times during the holidays, after I have made breakfast, dropped the kids off at school and spent my morning writing, is to sit in my living room with our Christmas tree all a glow, my candles lit in vigil, to relish the moment of this warm scene. My home is my church, my sanctuary, my place of refuge. The art of slowness is mastered here.