My Own Wild Open

My Own Wild Open

Winter arrives. It’s already a long one. Yet each day forward grows brighter.

The sun will shine longer. There will be more light.

I look to the season not with angst, but with thanks.

I can go there anytime, even while gazing from a window. Snow blankets trees in spare scenes. The green hemlock glows. I peer deep in the wilderness, through paths yet seen.

I like the minimalism, the stripping away, of the unnecessary.

It is quiet in the winter. A padded silence descends upon the snows. The cold air is crisp and fresh. I can in get a quick workout by shoveling a path or deck, warm my bones in a snowsuit, a few hard breaths, little sweat. The hot chocolate or tea inside soon sips sweet.

I go often to “Florida,” when the sun shines through the glass storm door and warms the tiles of our little foyer. Grab a pad and sit on the floor. Wave to a passerby, eat lunch. Soak in some rays. Call a friend and chat.

Winter is a time of rest and repair. Bears hibernate. I wish I could too, but then I would miss the act of winding down and finding more of myself, in my own wild open.

When I was young and worked summers in a grain warehouse, with mornings at dawn, I’d ask my mother to wake me on my day off, so I could have the pleasure of rolling over and falling back asleep. Winters are the weekends of my year.

I wake. I live at my pace. I breathe deep and explore the wilds around me, the paths yet explored in me.

I dream of skiing. The gentle rush of flowing downhill on the snow.

I lean on my shovel and smile.

Categories: Uncategorized

Steven Castle

Writer, photographer and storyteller. Author of The Really Good Life. Nature buff.

1 Comment

  1. Islene Runningdeer

    This is so nice, Steve. Thanks for sharing your sense of this quiet and soulful time of year. I agree…. I live with woods all around me, and I couldn’t be more content. Islene (Chris’ sister)


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