Somewhere to the south are open waters and sunlit shorelines, herons and loons, fields of grazing geese, throngs of kindred spirits perched on balmy verges with binoculars, tripods, cameras and lenses, all bearing witness to warmth, springtime, greening and the perfect perpetual turning of the Great Round.
Not here though. Everything is frozen over and deep in snow, and the birds who visit are hardy courageous creatures who live in the north all year long and do not migrate. For some reason, their songs are always the most beautiful in winter.
We have ice clad tributaries and artfully frosted trees, these intense blue shadows, this honeyed winter sundown light. If springtime had already arrived in the north, the end of the day would not have looked like this - we would not be seeing the journey in this astonishing light, these amazing jewel colors.
I have been rereading Ram Dass this week, and I remember something wise he once wrote about the long and winding road we are all on together: “Our journey is about being more deeply involved in Life and yet less attached to it.”He also said: "We are all just walking each other home."