light doesn’t have to be big and bright and bold to be powerful.

a tiny flame – can hold warmth and wonder.

a tiny flame – can calm the mind, slow the breath, and soften the vision.

a match.
a candle.
a flick of the wrist.
a spark.
a flame.

and then there was light in the darkness.

{if this sings to you, i invite you to join me for hope floats in winter. let’s find the beauty in the cold & the dark & the snow.}

it has been snowing since last wednesday.

when i look outside, or walk out the front door, i wonder if we are getting all our winter snow in one fell swoop, or if people feel discouraged as they shovel, knowing that the ground they clear will soon be covered by a blanket of new snow.

on sunday, the wind died down for a bit, and my sister and i took atlas for a walk before dinner.

it was a balmy one degree outside.

the sky was white. the trees were white. the ground was white.

the freshly fallen snow blanketed the earth with the sound of silence.

the evergreen branches sank toward the ground under the weight of the snow.

the unbroken path whispered, “come. you are welcome. come.”

atlas caught a scent of something under the snow and spent a few happy minutes trying to uncover it.

unfortunately, he also got too cold – i am still learning about dogs and winter – and he spent the rest of the day wrapped in blankets in front of the heater.

the wintry walk inspired a joyful exhilaration, a clarity of focus, an appreciation for the austere.

and as we walked along the trail toward home, the trees sang their noiseless song of rich deep wisdom and knowing.

“we are here. you are here. all is well.”

i am currently making a christmas gift. or, i was, until i decided to light my candy cane candle. (it smells like a candy cane! it is quite possibly the best candle ever.) the flame and the smoke distracted me and i pulled out my camera.

when i went to the bathroom to douse the matches, i glanced out the window and saw a solitary brown oak leaf scampering across the snow-covered road. the leaf paused for a second when it got to the snowbank on the other side, but then it jumped over the snowbank and into the swamp.

a storm blew in on wednesday afternoon. fortunately, atlas and i went for a hike on tuesday and another hike on wednesday morning, because the gusty blustery biting wind is hard on atlas’s ears so we are now lying low. it is a little quieter today, but it is no less cold. i took atlas for a morning walk and when i glanced at him a short while after breakfast, i noticed that he was shivering. i settled him on the bed underneath two warm blankets and he is catching up on his sleep.

i will confess that i wondered how i’d survive winter. though i grew up here, i’ve been gone a long time, and i thought it might be too cold. but the cold must be in my blood, because i am here and it is less cold than i remember (by which i mean, my body has adjusted so now 30 here feels rather like 50 in portland) and i love it. also, i had forgotten one thing about this kind of winter, which is that the cold and the wind and the snow make me feel so alive.

wherever you are, i wish you warmth.

“We feel cold, but we don’t mind it, because we will not come to harm. And if we wrapped up against the cold, we wouldn’t feel other things, like the bright tingle of the stars, or the music of the Aurora, or best of all the silky feeling of moonlight on our skin. It’s worth being cold for that.”

~ Philip Pullman, Northern Lights

here, it is the night before thanksgiving.

as i write this, there is a candy cane candle burning and a puppy sleeping.

the snow has been falling softly all day and the world is covered in a fluffy blanket of white.

today included a snowy walk with the pup and games with my family. tomorrow, there will be turkey, for me and for atlas.

this thanksgiving, i am feeling grateful to be here, now. this year has been hard for me. one of my hardest years ever. but it has taught me (is teaching me) so very much.

here, all is well.

this thanksgiving, i wish you warmth, wonder, and a soft place to land if/when you need one. also flying puppy ears, because they make everything better.

the caretaker for the unicorns of the north woods lives here, in a tiny ramshackle cottage.

(the cottage is cleverly disguised as a tumbledown shed.)

planted outside the cottage is the unicorns’ favorite snack. the flowers are white, and especially sweet just before winter – after the autumn winds have infused them with the scent of wild apples.

as i bent down, and looked sideways, i caught a glimpse of the road to fairyland.

hello, my dears!

if winter is hard on you (maybe it’s too long, too dark, too cold), i have a new offering ~ hope floats in winter ~ that i created just for someone like you.

it’s a twice-weekly note of inspiration, to help you find the beauty in the cold & the dark & the rain or the snow.

this is not going to be affirmations or forced positivity or “look on the bright side”.

this is just me, looking for the magic & wonder & blessing in the cold & the dark & the snow for myself, and sharing it with you, in the hope that it makes your winter easier and lighter.

details and registration are here.

and i would love love love for you (and your friends) to join me.

i can see the sun out my window, so i am sending you some sunshine of your own.

may your tuesday be full of cheer.