Betwixt the Bewitching

Finally, I realized it. Fancying myself a quick learner, I'm continually amazed at how long some things take to soak into my essence and become obvious. But, finally. I understand.

Why I want to slow down.

Why I want to nestle in next to my children for hours.

Why I want to cuddle under covers, warmed by multiple bodies, while I watch the steel gray winter sky threaten to sink so low that I could reach out and touch it.

Why I want to submerge into hearty recipes, warming my kitchen with the fragrant grace and bounty of stews and soups.

Why I crave slow, languid hours of quiet solitude.

Because I stopped long enough to hear it:

the combined whispers of my soul and winter and the earth, mingling in quiet harmonies:

Slow down.

Go within. Hibernate.

Release yourself from any guilt, remorse or shame. Do not push.

Rest. Recuperate. Relax.

Do so deliberately, and allow yourself to be thrilled by the quotidian, imperceptible passage of moment into moment.

Marvel at the winter's bewitching light, allow the mesmerizing power of the tree's intricate tapestry of branches to hypnotize you.

Stop.

All is well.

Trust your instincts.

Trust your path.

Trust.

I hear it. The occult, soft singing. So, so soothing. And I figure, since I'm lucky enough to sit betwixt the lullaby-like harmonies of soul and earth, I may as well join in.