Just Thinking

28 this morning, clear with heavy frost.

Today the house feels empty. Just Larry, me, the dogs and the cat. How strange after a week of visitors!

So the pace changes again. Deer processing this morning, then this afternoon is David's funeral. Back to the more difficult things in life. But necessary.

I am thinking about life and death, the juxtaposition of joy and sadness that often happen at the same time, sometimes leaving us feeling unbalanced, off kilter, breathless. It is times like this that I am grateful for the groundedness of country living. Here, we see new life beginning almost daily--tiny plants emerge, a fawn startles from brush, birds nest in trees close by. Even in winter, we know bulbs and roots are gathering strength for re-emergence in a few months. 

We are also constantly in contact with death: the necessary killing of deer for our freezer, chickens killed by some wild creature, a mouse laid at the door by the cat, the final days of the year's gardens, the passing of a neighbor. All part of the circle.

In December, the wheel of the year turns again, the Oak King emerges, light returns. Through centuries this has been so, and we are but a tiny cog, a blip in the turning. Our fears, hopes, joys, and grief grind under the inexorable wheel and will be forgotten expect perhaps by that great cosmic conscieniousness that absorbs it all.

We are part of the whole, aren't we, and though we might feel alone, we never really are. Many have gone before us, many will follow, and many here now share our every step. There is strength and peace to be found in that.

So on we go, into this season of death and rebirth. We will string lights, decorate trees, sing and drink and remember each other with gifts. Even today, as we prepare for David's funeral, my Christmas cactus has burst into bloom, and life goes on.

Copyright Susanna Holstein. All rights reserved. No Republication or Redistribution Allowed without attribution to Susanna Holstein.