My Winter Solstice Day

As the mercury rose from minus .5 to minus .2, I figured it was warm enough to head out the door, seeing as other locations around Tassie have had to suffer overnight temperatures as low as minus 7 degrees this past week. The yard was white and crunchy underfoot, so too the valley below as I wandered along the frosty track to take in the winter solstice sunrise, not a spectacular one compared to some we've had of late, but greeting the rising sun always gives me hope. No matter what happened yesterday, last week or however far in the past, a new day was dawning, a clean slate, full of possibilities if I dare to recognise them and take the risk to follow them through.

Headed up the bush to replenish my dwindling kindling supply, became absorbed with the delicacy of ice crystals on fallen timber, a discarded drink can from who knows when, and the rusting remains of what was probably once a forty four gallon drum.

As I gathered sticks, I became aware of snickerings and whisperings and as I looked closer discovered an odd family of woodland creatures. They were happy enough to jump in the car with me, and seemed content to find a new home in the backyard. I was a little concerned about the conversation going on between these two, one definitely didn’t look impressed, but in the main they remained aloof, avoided eye contact and weren’t exactly interacting much.

Neither was the massive petrified serpent or prehistoric creature of some description that had seen better days but had met his demise through whatever means in our very own patch of bush.

Decision to curl up on the couch in front of the fire to watch a chick flick while having my afternoon coffee with ginger nuts was dashed by my sound system spitting the dummy. Rats, means no more music either until my ancient setup receives an overhaul. Did some cutting and pasting instead of my favourite Darwin trip photos into my journal, reminding me how important and special those forty eight hours were, then curled up with a book to compensate, Barbara Kingsolver’s Prodigal Summer, appropriate I guess at this time of year. After reading her novel The Poisonwood Bible a while ago, I’m finding this one just as exquisitely written.

The temperature climbed to a creditable 6.3 around 2.30pm, a tad warmer than yesterday, then by sunset two hours later was back to 5.2. Mind you my thermometer is on the southern side of the house, so despite the sunny day that followed the frosty start, the reminder that winter is now upon us was made clear in no uncertain terms. As I write the mercury is back on its way down and currently at 3.9, but the lounge room is a moderate 18.5 and I’m already looking forward to a hearty bowl of soup and warm crusty roll for dinner before putting my feet up for the evening.

Winter arrived with a definite bite this year, and I now understand why the grey nomads head north for the winter. Without that option at this point I’m happy to embrace the particular delights of this season, the chill that makes you know you’re alive, and the warmth of home that cocoons you at the end of the working day.

Michael Leunig’s prayer from his book When I Talk to You says it succinctly for me.

We give thanks for the blessing of winter:

Season to cherish the heart.

To make warmth and quiet for the heart.

To make soups and broths for the heart.

To cook for the heart and read for the heart.

To curl up softly and nestle with the heart.

To sleep deeply and gently at one with the heart.

To dream with the heart.

To spend time with the heart.

A long, long time of peace with the heart.

We give thanks for the blessing of winter:

Season to cherish the heart.

Amen