On Wintering in the Midst of Mayhem

 “Once we stop wishing it were summer, winter can be a glorious season in which the world takes on a sparse beauty and even the pavements sparkle,” says Katherine May, author of “Wintering: The Power of Rest and Retreat in Difficult Times.”  A few thoughts on wintering, from 5 Women Mayhem …

Winter Reflections

by Marilyn Moore

Winter is the hardest of Nebraska’s seasons for me.  I recognize its importance in the cycle of life in this latitude in the middle of the continent…but that knowledge doesn’t make it easy.  It’s not just the cold, it’s the short days, the days that are dark and dreary, and the sheer difficulty of being out and about on icy, snow-covered walks and roads.

I’ve tried to talk/plan/organize myself most years to get through these next two months, usually by planning a big project that will occupy my indoor time and make me feel really accomplished when it’s done.  The reality?  I seldom accomplish said project, and instead I feel discouraged that once again I didn’t make good use of the time.

So this year, I’m thinking about what my body and mind and spirit most need in these two months.  It’s not a project.  It’s not even a plan.  It’s a vague image of what will be restorative and soothing, filling depleted energy stores.  It looks like more sleep, homemade soup and home-baked bread, time to read.  It looks like fresh flowers in the house, walks in the neighborhood and on the trails, as much sunshine as possible every day.  It looks like looking for beauty in browns, and time with friends and the little ones in our family to add color and sparkle. 

And, deep within, it looks like noticing every day that the sun rises a little earlier, sets a little later, and that deep within the earth, maple trees and beautyberry bushes and coneflowers are resting to grow again.  

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Time...

by Mary Reiman

Winter...

Time to read.

Time to settle.

Time to reflect on what is most important on this life’s journey.

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The Darkness of a January night …

by Mary Kay Roth

As a child, when I had to get up at night, I would soar over my blankets and out onto the floor – like a pole vault jumper leaping as far from my bed as possible – lest the bogeyman pull me under and into the darkness below.

I was terrified of those shadows.

Over the years, however, winter teaches us otherwise.

As dusk settles early on these January evenings, something quietly shifts inside as we pull winter nights around us like a warm, frothy comforter, diving into the deep cozy cave of hibernation.

Sadly, from childhood on, darkness gets a bad rap, a scary monster to approach with shivers and trepidation. Look up “dark” in a Thesaurus and you’ll find words like bleak, dismal, dreary.

If we truly allow winter to be our teacher, however, the darkness of a January night asks us to hug close – retreat and rest – discover its gifts and magic. Behind all the dark, long nights and cold winter mornings, there is something incredibly beautiful happening.  

Our bodies heal and grow in the dark while we sleep. Dreams dance in the dark. Music sounds infinitely better with lights off.  And throughout the coming months we will marvel at the unfailing human ability to find light in the middle of the darkest season.

At eventide, tonight, let’s wrap ourselves up in ridiculous amounts of clothing to watch dusk’s darkness fall around. Light a candle and let it flicker.  Head outdoors, come January 25, to stand sentinel as the full moon rises – the wolf moon – perhaps joining the nocturnal chorus to howl at winter’s dim glow.

If we allow darkness to warm us, winter shadows can lead to a place of well-being and wonder, to the quietest of quiet, the deepest shades of our soul – without a single bogeyman in sight.

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Epiphany in White

by JoAnne Young

I am traveling through the southern belt of Nebraska on this twelfth day of Christmas, 15 days after the winter solstice. The landscape is flocked in frosty white, shades of the usual tan and brown shrouded in crystal camouflage.

Hundreds upon hundreds of trees have offered themselves up as a visual feast for me and fellow sojourners. Some trees wear feathery crowns, others stand icy stark, still others hold a thickness of green fading to a sugary coating. The contrast of each bough in each tree contributes to their solitary beauty, and reminds me they are a lot like we can be in winter, stepping through these cold months and figuring out how to make a difference with our own uniqueness.

I will take this gift of winter beauty with me through the long nights of the season and, not to be greedy, but hope for ice bells on the lake and the crack and moan of frozen water, before the darkness melts away and the sunshine turns the land from white to green. And crocuses spring from their winter’s rest, eager to color our landscapes again.

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Finding Gratitude in Mayhem

by Penny Costello

It's a cold, snowy January day. For many of us, it's dark and dreary. In the dreariness, I am finding gratitude for truly seasonal weather, including some very much needed moisture to replenish our parched Mother Earth in this long period of exceptional drought. It's been so long since we had a truly seasonal winter here. I will take it. I'll welcome it with gratitude while I put food and water out for the birds and the urban wildlife who share this neighborhood with me and brighten my days with their presence.

I'd also like to express my gratitude and appreciation for this group of women who put up with what I call my mercurial meanderings and less than consistent contributions to this blog. It's fun to see what we each come up with when we do these collaborative blogs on various themes, and enjoy the glimpses into our individual processes and personalities when we approach a particular subject together. As I approach the winter of my life, I'm grateful, honored, and tickled to be a part of 5 Women Mayhem. And that gratitude extends to you, our readers, so generous with your attention, comments, and sharing of our stories. Thank you!

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