what child is this?

the darkest time of the year is nearing. 

how is there this much light? 

candles appear in windows. 

tail lights on cars line up in strings of red and white on our commute home. 

moonlight on white sheets.

the pellet stove kicks up sparks of heat.

blankets of white powder cover each branch. each blade. 

sunrise and sunset reach the clouds, grasping for intense beauty. (see this!)

and there's a rose with eyes glittering in curiosity, wonder and love on the pillow beside me.  

my two daughters: born in december. born in darkness. bringers of light.

we think of the baby now. 

the baby born in darkness, in a barn. 

with animal's breath for warmth. 

what of those children born in darkness, in candlelight. 

how do their eyes adjust to our light?

must they squint and squeal~ 

remembering the darkness they knew and loved?

never fearing darkness, they know warmth will surround them. 

never fearing the unknown, 

they know the gifts that come out of darkness and into light. 

after all, they did. 

this is the time of the child.

we watch their excitement. 

we watch them wish. 

we watch them dance in snow fall and carol. 

we bask in their light. 

we all were once the child. 

the child of light still lives inside of us.  

...child of wonder, child of night....

"o star of wonder, star of night

star with royal beauty bright

westward leading, still proceeding, 

guide us to thy perfect light."

stars pierce the night.

(star of wonder.)

winding and weaving

http://wonderous-world.com/post/65641134338/favorite-season-red-forest-by-alfon-no

o, how i'm drawn to the curve, the swirl, the bend, the corner... where you push down on the gas pedal half way through the turn, and feel your stomach drop out as you pull forward. 

you know, you'll never know what's around that bend. you'll not see it coming. 

it's truth: the bend, the stretch. 

             the swirl, the way. 

http://elfentau.tumblr.com/post/29987720962

when you climb those hills and urge and urge your car, your spirit, your mind to "make it!!" you are reminded of that gift in view as you round a bend, of the gift of details hidden in the curves. of the present, and the awareness you must keep to stay between the lines and not fall off the edge. 

off the edge. 

it makes me dizzy to even think of it. 

it's the root of my fear of heights. 

the edge... 

http://500px.com/photo/40133150

but couldn't i see that the edge is another curve? an adventure to find what is at the bottom. what of this worrying? this fear? 

someone wise told me recently that anxiety is like an umbrella you think might protect you from the weather (the true feelings and fears).... and i remembered how much i hate umbrellas. i mean, i'm using the word "hate" here. what a nuisance they are. just something else to carry. and i have many other jobs for my hands that i much prefer: playing piano. holding hands. 

even, wiping away tears. 

so i think i'll drop this umbrella of fear and anxiety. ("everything is already okay.") i think i'll lean into these curves and edges. 

i still don't know what is waiting for me. 

perhaps the best present of all. 

i'll not see it coming. the thrill of it all.  

a burning.

it's been awhile.

http://metroplastique.tumblr.com

and andy goldsworthy's words and art are speaking to me...

"the image of someone dying is burned on you~ the day after the death, i made a work with a hole on the tree. i see it as a visual entrance into the earth, an entrance there between which life both ebbs and flows. i'm drawn into the depth and out of that comes growth also... the black is the absence~ it's the intangible but in the context of a tree that i know will come back to life... "
                   ~andy goldsworthy in "rivers and tides"

a few mornings ago, the sun was just thinking about rising, and my family (one larger and one smaller than the last time i wrote) was driving on the road that was the last road my dad drove on before...
before he went through that hole to somewhere else...
we were driving on the road that echoes the river next to it. there was mist on the river, mist in my eyes.
the river and i, still, and moving beside each other.
the morning light delicate, the moon still hanging full and ready to face the sun.

i wasn't quite ready to face it as i rode on that road.

i'm lonely without my dad.
and yet, i always have him with me now. at least, i'm now aware of having him with me. he's been there all along. with me deep in my cells. my biology. my heart. my spirit.

still, i'm lonely without him. in a burning, wish i could get his response after reading this blog post, and hear him say my name, and smell him when he's hugging me, kind of burning.

this burning ebbs and flows, in the way life does, it circles around and hits me in new places and unexpected memories. and so i turn to the natural world~
             and find myself in the swirl of leaves racing each other to the ground, spider webs heavy with dew, frost waiting to last longer than the first hour of daylight and i am reminded of this aching beauty of life. all this death (of autumn!!) is gorgeous. loud. glorious.

and full of grace.
just like my dad.