A Winter Walk

In the fading light of afternoon, 

we head out for a wander in the forest. 

The first heavy snow fell over the weekend, 

which means I break trail for Pasha.

Up and down the trees he goes.

Wild-eyed and grateful for sharp claws and rough bark, 

and the chance to run trails in the deep wood. 

We pass the tracks of the large, male fisher, 

reminding us of how wild this forest is.  

The tracks are relatively fresh, and I notice

an immediate shift in Pasha - and in myself. 

We are both aware of just how dangerous 

an encounter with the fisher would be for him. 

Life eats life, and so it is. The wild beauty here 

reminds me daily of this. 

Long shadows through a young, wispy hemlock.

I glimpse the house through the 

trees and pretend I've traveled far through  

the enchanted forest. I'm sure that

an old, bent woman will greet me 

at the door - wide eyed 

and crooked toothed -

and tell me she 

has been expecting me.  

Instead of the old woman, we notice 

that the fisher has visited sometime not so long ago. 

He wandered around very close to the house, 

writing beautifully in the snow. Probably he passes 

through a lot, but the snow reveals his travels, 

and the reason that Pasha seems on such high alert today. 

The front stoop dressed up for Yule.

I tuck Pasha safe inside and head out 

to view the sunset.  

Coming home to a warm glow, but still no old woman... 

well, of course, someday the old woman will be me!

Santa Shamans & Solstice Circle

The fading light on the longest night 

brought golden clouds and brisk wind. 

I loaded wood on the cart and 

wheeled it to the fire pit in 

a clearing in the hemlocks. 

A handful of hardy souls gathered around 

the Solstice Fire to celebrate the sun's 

re-birth. The silent and silvery moon

 rose to watch our revelry, dancing 

with the clouds as we danced with 

the fire. With boughs of spruce 

and fir we swept the year clean, 

'round and 'round the circle

sweeping and blessing 

each other, 

and the land. 

This morning, Pasha and I gathered the left over kindling 

to light our morning fire and bring the blessings of 

the circle into the house. 

Inside, my tree is the Shaman World Tree.

With owls and angels up high, 

and a skiing Santa Shaman who looks to me like a Sami 

from the arctic circle in Norway. In his bag he carries

the magic that makes reindeer fly.

Another of my favorites is the Santa who stands with 

arms outstretched for several weeks offering himself

to the wee critters who come to my tree to be a 

part of the story. 

There's also a sweet, sledding faery who lights her 

way with a lantern,

and a mighty king who surveys the kingdom, 

wandering the forest from Solstice 'til New Year's. 

(actually, its a Queendom, but I don't tell him)

The Solstice table, ready to welcome

moon cakes and mulled cider and 

cold-toed revelers, is guarded 

by the White Reindeer and 

his friend, the Santa Shaman 

who shelters critters in his 

robes. 

And possibly my favorite of all, with his 

Stag Staff and oak leaf bordered robe, 

dances in spirals around his fire

in the center of the table, 

banging his staff 

loudly to make 

sure he's got the 

attention of the 

ancestors.  

Through this most lively of celebrations, 

Pasha manages to dream other stories

by the heat of the wood stove, 

on his little sheepskin rug.

Stories in the Snow

"Old One", drawing on 8x8" scratchbord panel

Thank you all for your heartfelt words on my last post, 

I was truly comforted by your support and well wishes.

As the days melt one into the other, we find our 

feet on the path of healing, feeling the strength 

of our family and the warm embraces of 

those near and far. 

I have been working on more tree drawings, 

 the obsessive mark-making a meditation in the fading 

winter light. I think the one above is my favorite so far, 

finished last night sitting close to the wood stove 

listening to an audio book of ancient days of 

road wandering and storytelling in England. 

"Mystery Tree", drawing on 4x4" scratchbord panel

A frozen world surrounds me, with a sweet dusting of 

snow, a blank parchment recording the travels

of the forest creatures. Below, the tracks of the fox, 

just outside the door, where many an encounter 

was had between fox and Pasha cat last spring.

Grandmother Winter's dark cloak hides the daylight early

away, yet the frozen jewels she spreads beneath her

reveal that silent ones have slipped past. I love this time

of year, able to read the traveling stories of the often  

invisible woodland wanderers.

Below, a collection of images from the last day 

of school. Student work from my class, Exploring the Natural World,

and the last photo, a collection of books projects from 

2D Design & Color. I hope you enjoy them as much as I!

(Click to enlarge)

Mixed-media - map cutout and collage by Sarah P. who 

shares my love of winter trees. 

A very large chalk pastel drawing - 20"x50" or so, 

by another Sarah.... lovely light!

A 3-d illustration of a poem by Riley, 

with detail below. 

Watercolor and color pencil drawings by Miriam.

Watercolor and pen & ink drawing by Justine below.

Atmospheric imaginary landscape by Jess, and 

"Animal Houses", by Austin below.

Mixed-media collage - lovely landscape by Kate, and

below, a collection of design books, and a peek at 

the studio at school where I teach. 

Alas, it is time to wrap myself in wool, down and fleece 

and venture out to bring in wood, fill bird feeders, and 

walk a bit to collect kindling. Pasha has been in 

and out many times already, for the temperature 

was only 12 degrees last I looked. I wonder if 

he'll join me on my chores to write our 

wandering stories in the snow? 

Deep Peace/Quiet Earth

Last week we buried my 

niece's thirty one year old husband. 

Today, I watch the last of the leaves 

clinging to the oak tree, one 

sails off, gliding this way and that, 

on the slow descent to the quiet, 

frozen earth. 

I've been avoiding this post, 

wondering if I would share, 

but knowing I wanted to - 

to tell you why I haven't responded to all 

your wonderful comments on the last post. 

For I, too, am hanging on a tiny thread, 

like the faded oak leaf, 

seeing the dark, 

still earth beneath my feet. 

Spiral stone drawings.

A praying angel. 

Dark trunks 

and rhythmic branches. 

A setting sun.

  

At the cemetery I sang the 

ancient Celtic Deep Peace prayer. 

I was trembling, 

again the oak leaf, 

 holding by a thread 

to a moment.

But it was 

necessary

to sing 

Deep Peace 

of the Quiet Earth to you, 

over and over and over. 

  

I've been thinking, 

that if trauma doesn't crack you up,

it cracks you open.

As I sit in heart-wrenching witness of 

my beloved niece, 

I feel how deeply I love, 

and gratitude washes over me, 

in finding this sacred gift, 

and in feeling  

the peace of the 

quiet earth 

holding me.