January Stillness

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Waking in the early morn of January darkness frozen and still, laying amid the blanketed warmth of energy remaining, kept breathing within the cocoon while sleeping, dreaming and watching, observing the turning over and over, people, places, colors and patterns repeating, as they play out on the falling snow shapes of our minds.  Ideas, thoughts and creation coming and going, leaving in their wake scattered seeds to follow, running, walking, bittersweet feet melting in the snow.  Conversations with the winter creator keep us patient, hopeful, wondering still. What is the purpose for this day awakening in the early morn of January darkness frozen and still.

Rising in the early morn of January darkness frozen and still, beams of pink flow across the black sky amid the barren branches grey and umber, stillness still, quiet and cold. Puffs of grey smoke struggle in the crisp air to rise above the rooftops of homes laid bare, dropped like marshmallows upon the barren land. The sun rises finally keeping low in the sky, teasing the warmth out of the meager beams of light casting upon the earth, birds begin to gather huddled within the branches of trees lifeless and sleeping. The day begins in the January darkness frozen and still.

Moving  in the January darkness, frozen and still, quick and rapid wrapped in mummified dressings, errands completed, dog walked, mail retrieved, walks shovelled, sidewalks swept, we scurry. Numbness creeping into our toes and fingers, noses red and eyelashes frosty. Greetings exchanged amid scarf covered mouths and down-filled hats, we recognize one another from pictures implanted upon memories hot and bright, faces brown and glowing with the intense energy of the summer sun. Moving quickly we hurry home where warmth greets us like oasis in desert lands, parched and arid. Night comes quickly in the January darkness, frozen and still.

Easing into the creeping night stillness,  January darkness frozen and still, looms, calling to return to the cocoon, butterfly wings wrapped tightly, caressing cheeks softly, eyes closing slowly, into the abyss of winters sleep. A time for pondering, going deep within, listening to the calling within the soul. The language of January stillness speaks, echoing softly upon the snow laden mounds covering grass green and brown. Woodland creatures surviving beneath, burrowing deep, hibernating amid the hooves pounding gently upon the snow above, and the wolves howling in unison with the winter winds. Rise, sleep still. The time for dancing in the sun has not yet come in the January darkness, frozen and still.

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Speak Your Truth. Whispering No Longer Serves You

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