There’s something about winter.
I always grumble at its approach, and by February am over-ready for spring, and yet…
4pm today – I glanced out at the darkening sky and felt … stillness. The birds had already gone to bed; at least, the ones which haven’t migrated.
There’s something about this time of the winter. Not the chaos of commercialism or the frenetic busyness as we all try to get ready for Christmas occasions. But if we choose to inhabit, for a moment, the winter stillness…the sense of dormancy. Of waiting as life sleeps for a while beneath the cold earth.
I’m struck, as I pause in whatever task I’m doing, by a quietness in the air. It’s conducive to Advent*, in my mind, causing me to slow, to take a slow breath and stop.
Hush. Just for a moment, before I start again. Relish, for a moment, the act of drawing curtains on the blanket of dark and retreating into the warm glow. (I think of those, too, who have no warmth to retreat into, and this gives me another kind of pause.)
Be still, whispers the world.
He’s coming, as he always has come, and he will come once more.
*Of course, those the other side of the world will be approaching summer. I wonder – how do our approaches to Advent differ in tone and mood, owing to the season of the year?