Wild and Wonderful
I think we have moved to a very wild and wonderful place.
This morning dawned clear and brisk - negative 12 to be exact. That’s the kind of cold that requires two scarves and several layers of down before I’ll even think of heading out the door. That’s the kind of cold that, regardless of my layering prowess, has a way of instantly freezing my nose hairs and eyelashes with the first breath of air. I know that it’s been this chilly all up and down the Front Range for the past few days, in town and out, but getting an (almost) unobstructed view of the alpenglow on the foothills while the world lay silent and dusted with ice…all day it’s had me thinking that I must be in another world.
A world where the wind, unimpeded by buildings and tall trees, can buffet the sides of the house with enough ferocity as to make you believe it’s trying to blow you clean away. Where old bones lie forgotten in the grasses, like they’ve been waiting for my magpie-eyes to pick them out among the frost-tipped blades. Where a young mountain lion stops in for a drink at the neighbor’s pond.
On that last point - all I can say is that I’m not going to give Ponderosa any more crap for being worried about going out to the bathroom before bed. No - I’m going to be out there with her, headlamp on as bright as it will go, scanning from left to right for the mirrored flash of predator eyes in the darkness.
It’s true - though we’re only fifteen minutes from my childhood home and twenty minutes from our old house, we are definitely not in the city any more.
This past week has been all about settling. Unpacking, putting away, finding a new rhythm. Moving is such a weird process…a big old jumble of familiar things trying to find their places within unfamiliar spaces. It’s reaching for light switches that aren’t there - or reaching for switches that ARE there and having the split second though that you might just be reaching for empty wall. It’s Disorienting. Discombobulating! I’ve been all kinds of turned around.
Today, though, I started pawing through the stone box which must mean that I’ve found some sort of flow. While it’s a little hard to be thinking of spring when everything outdoors is sleeping so soundly during this latest cold snap, I can see that it’s on the way.
Cirrus has begun to shed. The birds are singing of warmer weather. The earth is tilting us towards the south and even my winter-loving soul is drawn towards the light like a freshly sprouted seedling. So, naturally, stones with wet-earth hues and soft pinks were my first picks.
I’m going to try to do some new and interesting things with this group of pieces - drawing from ideas I’ve been saving and on techniques I’ve been wary to try again (or to try full stop). Why not? In this new space, “new” feels like the way to go.
In with the new means out with the old, though. And by “the old,” I mean our old house. The neighbors’ friends didn’t bite, so it’s going on the market (sooner than later I hope!). Today, I spent a good hour or so digging through old photos to find some shots of our summer garden to include in the house listing - and the sad I’ve been waiting to arrive? It arrived.
The garden was just…such an oasis. I spent so much time watering and tending and harvesting and now I’ve got to start from scratch all over again. For some reason, beginning again with the house doesn’t bum me out - but all of my perennials! My dear prickly pear and the Mountain Rose Apple! They feel like friends, not so easily replaced.
All will be well, I know. I’ve already got seeds in hand and am plotting where to plant them. But tonight, just for a while, I’m letting myself be a little blue because feeling all the feelings as they come is the only way to find peace and carry on. That way, hopefully, when the time comes to sink my shovel into this new soil, I’ll be able to do so with an open heart.