As winter draws in traditionally our eyes turn inward. The busyness of the growing season is behind us. The bounty of harvest is past, squirrels’ larders are stocked, the bear’s layer of winter fat is at its finest. The trees draw down their sap. And human beings, stubborn though we are, can hear the invitation to rest; and to a different kind of work.
We have just dipped our toes into the dreaming time of the world. As the Northern hemisphere spins toward the darkest day of the year and our mythic eyes flutter closed and the first dreams of winter begin to call our names. We will sink into a slow winter invitation, resting, and turning our eyes inward toward our own interior horizon. What is gathering there, what do we imagine just over the curve of our souls?
We breathe into the possibility.