Laura Purdie Salas is hosting the roundup at Writing the World for Kids.
It’s been a winter of solitude, self reflection, and discovery. Our pastures and woods may have filled up with snow and ice, but I discovered new pathways to skirt around the impassable and that there was a particular satisfaction in trudging through the snow just to be able to see the frozen creek glint and glimmer as it meandered down the valley. Daylight may have been reduced to a few precious hours, if we were lucky to have been graced with the sun in the first place, but there was a delightful satisfaction in being able to allow early darkness as an invitation to longer hours of reading by the roaring woodstove.
This lovely poem captures my winter thoughts perfectly:
Patricia Fargnoli: “Winter Grace”
If you have seen the snow under the lamppost piled up like a white beaver hat on the picnic table or somewhere slowly falling into the brook to be swallowed by water, then you have seen beauty and know it for its transience. And if you have gone out in the snow for only the pleasure of walking barely protected from the galaxies, the flakes settling on your parka like the dust from just-born stars, the cold waking you as if from long sleeping, then you can understand how, more often than not, truth is found in silence, how the natural world comes to you if you go out to meet it, its icy ditches filled with dead weeds, its vacant birdhouses, and dens full of the sleeping. But this is the slowed-down season held fast by darkness and if no one comes to keep you company then keep watch over your own solitude. In that stillness, you will learn with your whole body the significance of cold and the night,
which is otherwise always eluding you.