I love to behold beauty in all its forms, especially what the world offers freely… Rose-tinged sunrises, a dragonfly resting on my hand, cats’ eyes at dusk, stones made smooth enough to skip.
But there is something nearly sacred in making: entering that quiet realm where the hands know what the mind cannot utter.
Nothing compares to the birthing of my children, those ultimate acts of making.
Still I take comfort in smaller labors: strands of embroidery floss, skeins of wool, tubes and palettes of paint.
And the ability to shape them into something that lasts– sometimes admired, worn or passed on, carrying the warmth of the hands that made it.
The trail vanished. Wind rushed past like an animal that did not see me. Snow came harder, then harder– the world narrowed to breath, to the small miracle of standing.
I lifted my hands and they disappeared. Nothing stayed long enough to be named. The storm had its own mind, and I was inside it.
Then–listen– something opened. Not the sky. Not the snow. But the place in me that waits for silence before it speaks.
Ideas arrived gently, as they do under water, or in the shower, clear and shining, each one saying: Here. This is yours.
I stayed awhile in the great unseeing, learning what the storm knows: that sometimes not being able to see makes things more visible– the true shape of a thought, the calm beneath urgency, the joy of simply being here.
When I turned back, the lodge glowed like a promise– lamplight, voices, heat. I carried with me what the white weather gave: a rinsed mind, a quiet heart, and the bright understanding that clarity does not always arrive in light.
On the pond where frost wove its glimmering thread, Round and round on the ice, so much laughter was spread. My father on one side, my mother’s warm hand, Together we skated through winter’s command.
The cold held no power, our joy burned so bright, Each smile a lantern in the soft fading light. My father, a hockey fan quick on his feet, My mother, a skater whose grace was complete.
Their spirit of wonder still dances in me, Like ripples of moonlight on a shimmering sea. Though time has now carried their voices away, Their love is a gift I unwrap every day.
As the year softly closes, I cherish the thought, Of the laughter and lessons their living had taught. I hope that my children will carry their flame, And feel in their hearts that same joyous refrain!
A toast to the the beauty of years that have passed, To moments of love that forever will last. On this last day of the year, as memories shine, I feel their hands guiding, still holding to mine.
My best wishes to you for 2025! Happy New Year! ❤️
In days of yore, in times Victorian fair, By the pond’s edge, with crisp, clear air, We children gathered, hearts aglow, To feed the mallards crumbs in tow.
Their emerald heads, with sheen so bright, Glistened like jewels in morning light. Majestic creatures, in green adorned, A sight to cherish, a scene to mourn.
In summer’s warmth, they swam with grace, Dancing on water, a joyous embrace. Their quacks, a chorus, a playful cheer, Echoed sweetly, ringing near.
But winter came with chilly nights, A frozen pond, no duck took flight. The waters stilled, the mallards caught. In nature’s grasp, their freedom sought.
We’d rush to save them, break the ice, With tender hands, a sacrifice. To free their wings to let them fly, Underneath the frigid sky.
Those emerald heads, with memories tied, To days of laughter, when time would bide. Still call to mind a youth so grand, With mallard ducks, and crumb-filled hand.
I remember a kindly police officer who helped us children free the mallard ducks stuck in the frozen water of the neighborhood pond. It was amazing that the ducks survived!
In the moonlit glade, a lynx appears, Fur-tipped ears, green-gold eyes quelling fears, A guardian wise, like an androsphinx’s grace, Yet, ponder, do we anthropomorphize his face?
All-knowing aura, mystique in his stare, Yet, does he ponder life with a thoughtful air? Do we project our musings, a human reflection, Onto the lynx, seeking a shared connection?
In the silent forests, mysteries untold, Does the lynx ponder more than hunger bold? Hissing and yowling and screams in the night, A startling assertion of nature’s might.
In winter’s embrace, a lonely man found cheer, A red fox came, a friend so dear.
Exquisite fur, eyes of blue-green grace, Shared scraps, forming a bond in that quiet space.
Yet, in reaching out, a truth unfolds, Wild and untamed, as nature holds.
Teeth bared, a lesson swiftly learned, A cunning companion, loyalty unearned.
I found it difficult to teach my children to be wary of wild animals when so many children’s books, cartoons, and movies – especially Disney movies, portrayed them as cute and cuddly creatures.
In a quiet wood where leaves gently spread, A hedgehog dwelled, his own path he’d tread. Alone he preferred, in solitude’s embrace, Away from his prickle, a solitary grace.
In rustling leaves, he found delight, Playing alone, a lone hedge’s right. Curling in a ball, he’d peacefully sleep, In solitude’s company, his secrets to keep.
One morn, a snowy blanket covered the land, The woods adorned in an arctic strand. Under the sun’s gaze, a serene tableau, Yet, no fellow creatures, no friend or foe.
As he played in the snow, a shadow drew near, Unseen by the hedgehog, it whispered in his ear. In his longing for solace, he returned to his den, Curled up in a ball once more, in dreams to transcend.
Little hedgehog, in the quiet of his rest, Unaware of the shadow, a mysterious guest. Alone, he slumbers, in his dream’s reprieve, In the snowy woods, where secrets weave.
I first learned about hedgehogs from TheTale of Mrs. Tiggy-Winkle, a delightful little children’s book written and illustrated by Beatrix Potter. Although the protagonist hedgehog interacted with other animals in the story, hedgehogs are known to be solitary creatures – save for mating. I know at least one person who is very much a loner, like the hedgehog, and he seems very content. :)
In the peaks where snow doth lie, A creature graced with silent stride, Snow leopard roams beneath the sky, In the realm where frost abides.
With fur of silver, spots of night, Its gaze, ice blue, a mystic sight, Amongst snow-capped mountains high, A guardian beneath the moonlight.
Once a child of that mountain air, A woman now, distant and fair, From the village, she did part, Leaving behind a heavy heart.
In dreams, she hears the snow’s soft call, A longing echoes through the hall, Her spirit yearns for frozen grace, To wander in that wild embrace.
The snow leopard, a silent guide, Through peaks where memories abide, Its eyes like crystals, piercing cold, A tale of nature’s beauty told.
The woman, haunted by the past, Desires the mountains, free at last, To return to where her soul belongs, Amidst the snow, where it prolongs.
Through valleys deep and rivers wide, Her heart retraces steps beside, Towards the peaks, she yearns to climb, Reconnect with frozen time.
Oh, snow leopard with eyes so bright, Guide her through the frigid night, To find her way, to nature’s lore, To the mountains she adored once more.
The northern landscapes that shaped my early years now seem like distant dreams. I wish for a winter’s day, especially in the late afternoon as the sun is setting, when the snow is infused with soft shades of white, blue, lavender, and rose.
Fall, leaves, fall; die, flowers, away; Lengthen night and shorten day; Every leaf speaks bliss to me Fluttering from the autumn tree. I shall smile when wreaths of snow Blossom where the rose should grow; I shall sing when night’s decay Ushers in a drearier day. From Fall, Leaves, Fall by Emily Brontë
I reveled in the beauty of fall on my walk – but, there was a bittersweet undertone to the experience. The leaves that carpeted my path were a sign that the world around me was preparing for a long slumber. The once-bustling woods would soon be hushed by the frigid grip of winter. The trees, now so alive with color, will soon stand bare and vulnerable.
We wish you a Merry Christmas, We wish you a Merry Christmas, We wish you a Merry Christmas, And a Happy New Year! Good tidings we bring to you and your kin; Good tidings for Christmas And a Happy New Year!
My best Christmas wishes to you and your loved ones!
Satin & Sand 