When I read your beautiful prelude to Winter’s Story, I knew I would have a part to play. As winter is my season.
I am a winter traveler, the time of year when my footsteps are entirely fleeting in the bounty of snow. Lulled by your gorgeous ‘wintered’ words , blowing across the top of a hill . I find myself shape shifting , landing on on…
When I read your beautiful prelude to Winter’s Story, I knew I would have a part to play. As winter is my season.
I am a winter traveler, the time of year when my footsteps are entirely fleeting in the bounty of snow. Lulled by your gorgeous ‘wintered’ words , blowing across the top of a hill . I find myself shape shifting , landing on one of those well trodden paths deep in an enchanted forest. Grateful to feel a part of this wondrous journey through time and place. Witness scenes in photographs that act as a visual guide through your story. Thank you for the experience to allow me to share with you. ❄️🎄
Wendell Berry - The Art of the Commonplace ; like you, it seems I am a part of this poem too. We share the same “ritual”.
I am learning to love these winter scenes Lor, it has not been my habit to be joyous in this winter season but with age, I find there is, in the bleak and the cold, the wind and the rain (though I always pray for snow) much to sharpen the senses, to be amazed by, to love! That you feel a part of my winter story, being a seasoned lover, makes me smile hugely.
Words are being blown, too strongly and fiercely to catch hold of today, the icy blast is cruel, but as I watch the crows, ungainly in the buffeting blasts and an unusual black pheasant (a newcomer to my hill, that I would love to catch in a still image for you - he is glorious!) I am excited to be outside again, to feel the stinging on my face reminding me I’m alive - winter may have different ways, but they are bewitching ways… my thanks to you, wonderful winter soul🤍xx
When I read your beautiful prelude to Winter’s Story, I knew I would have a part to play. As winter is my season.
I am a winter traveler, the time of year when my footsteps are entirely fleeting in the bounty of snow. Lulled by your gorgeous ‘wintered’ words , blowing across the top of a hill . I find myself shape shifting , landing on one of those well trodden paths deep in an enchanted forest. Grateful to feel a part of this wondrous journey through time and place. Witness scenes in photographs that act as a visual guide through your story. Thank you for the experience to allow me to share with you. ❄️🎄
Wendell Berry - The Art of the Commonplace ; like you, it seems I am a part of this poem too. We share the same “ritual”.
I am learning to love these winter scenes Lor, it has not been my habit to be joyous in this winter season but with age, I find there is, in the bleak and the cold, the wind and the rain (though I always pray for snow) much to sharpen the senses, to be amazed by, to love! That you feel a part of my winter story, being a seasoned lover, makes me smile hugely.
Words are being blown, too strongly and fiercely to catch hold of today, the icy blast is cruel, but as I watch the crows, ungainly in the buffeting blasts and an unusual black pheasant (a newcomer to my hill, that I would love to catch in a still image for you - he is glorious!) I am excited to be outside again, to feel the stinging on my face reminding me I’m alive - winter may have different ways, but they are bewitching ways… my thanks to you, wonderful winter soul🤍xx