A February Manifesto: Day Two
February Policy # 2-- Embrace the Silence
A ruby throated hummingbird beats its wings 55 times in a second. In many ways, life Up North during the summer months is that way; it is a continual forward motion of activity, a flurry of faces, a time when we work and play harder. Our children run until they fall asleep in beds riddled with grains of sand. They smell of water and wind and days that slip by too quickly. And we love every second of it.
But still. There is something to be said about the restorative power of the winter season.
It is a time to return to center, to soak in the silence of snow-lined trees and empty streets.
I walk along the edge of the bay, sometimes alone, sometimes with friends. There are moments without words when the deep groans and creeks of lake ice become the soundtrack of our breathing. There is time spent noticing rocks encased in thin layers of ice, of frozen sand that does not stir in the wind.
As a mother, embracing the silence takes practice. It takes mindfulness, and if I lived anywhere else, it would be next to impossible. Here, though, here I can look out my kitchen window as the warm hues of sunset glow against the snow, and there it is: the stillness, the quiet, the calm.
*February Manifesto: Day One can be found hereand Day Three is over here Day Five is right here, and stay tuned, because I'll be adding a new post every day until 2/21.
A ruby throated hummingbird beats its wings 55 times in a second. In many ways, life Up North during the summer months is that way; it is a continual forward motion of activity, a flurry of faces, a time when we work and play harder. Our children run until they fall asleep in beds riddled with grains of sand. They smell of water and wind and days that slip by too quickly. And we love every second of it.
But still. There is something to be said about the restorative power of the winter season.
It is a time to return to center, to soak in the silence of snow-lined trees and empty streets.
I walk along the edge of the bay, sometimes alone, sometimes with friends. There are moments without words when the deep groans and creeks of lake ice become the soundtrack of our breathing. There is time spent noticing rocks encased in thin layers of ice, of frozen sand that does not stir in the wind.
As a mother, embracing the silence takes practice. It takes mindfulness, and if I lived anywhere else, it would be next to impossible. Here, though, here I can look out my kitchen window as the warm hues of sunset glow against the snow, and there it is: the stillness, the quiet, the calm.
*February Manifesto: Day One can be found hereand Day Three is over here Day Five is right here, and stay tuned, because I'll be adding a new post every day until 2/21.
4 Comments
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Comment by PKS on February 16, 2009 at 9:10am - Ah, what a description! The silence of winter, the flurry of summer. Thank you for putting it all into words! Your gift enlightens all of us who read this blog. You really should be writing books so that you because you would touch so many more lives. I so look forward to these daily postings! Feb. will fly by! Thank you!
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Comment by Sus on February 16, 2009 at 11:04am - I still can't believe the view from your kitchen window. All the times I've spent lakeside or oceanside in summers, I always think how lovely and still the places would be in winter. I was thinking of bringing my kids to visit you and yours some summer, but maybe we'll do it in winter. (Or not.) (Still sand is good, but wet, warm sand is still better. Sorry - am I ruining your efforts to get through February? :) Go back to Buddhist Mommy and ignore me.) :)
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Comment by robin on February 16, 2009 at 12:08pm - Beautiful pictures. It looks like a totally different place than during the summer months! I love my quiet winter walks. I love the stillness winter provides when I am out on my walks, especially at night.
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Comment by Lisa Doublestein on February 16, 2009 at 7:43pm - Oh Kate, you're so good to love winter here. I'm afraid I'm more "the glass is half-empty" on this one. I prefer the hustle and bustle of the summer! I can't wait until we can walk out our doors without stiffening from the cold. I'm going to have to refer to this post every time I start to let winter get the best of me, so that I remember that stillness really is a gift to mothers, and to appreciate the long, slow, still months of the year a little more. :)
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