It's storming outside here. I watch the fog-like snow gently blow over the roads looking like ocean waves crawling onto a shore. The bitter stinging of the wind hits my skin leaving feelings of hundreds of paper cuts on my fingertips. All life outside seems to cease to exist, and my mind drifts like the snow, wondering about the animals on the land. I hope for their warmth wherever they are, envisioning them huddled together somewhere deep in these mountains.
The silent cold suddenly hits me and the freezing powerful energy penetrates my bones bringing my mind to immediate attention like a slap in the face, waking me from a dream. The blueish-purple hue resonates with a deep feeling of security yet extreme vulnerability to the storms deadly power. It's quiet, so quiet that all I can hear is the ice-like snow crystals blowing into my jacket sounding like grains of rice hitting an art canvas and my breath as my lungs try to keep warm.
Dear Winter, you are a God, a powerful force of destructive beauty. A gateway for the path of hope to begin. You are deaths blanket and the womb of rebirth. You are the bringer of hope for a glorious spring provided by your divine labor pains for rebirth in this land. I give thanks to this wondrous storm and rush with a sense of panic to find warmth as though I were looking for oxygen. I am present for this moment and feel so alive as though the Winter in its sacred glory became existent in that very same moment just for me. ❤❄
~Keia Eden Lavine, HHP.