Cryptic Concretions

Today the light is soft with the snow blanket. The sounds are muffled, caught in the chambers of ice that cover our sidewalks and dirty streets. We are wrapped in fleece and taking an extra cup of coffee and time to relax. I picked up my drawing pencil to capture the allusive Jackalope.

My work meeting was canceled. I'm listening to music. Last night some wild creature looked into my bedroom window at me. He was cold. On the front porch there are footprints from a bird trailing over the smoking chair. My housemate stood in the doorway and we exchanged pleasantries as I put out an overdue piece of post. December is unwinding our tethers to this year. This very tough year. I write and consult the tarot. I've been struck dumb with the prospect of new relations. The Chariot, The Stars, Strength, 3 of Cups, warn, wax, wane. Cryptic concretions.

It is a reminder that life springs from the decay.

Winter is the time where we restock our energies.

The sprig that swells and reemerges in the melt.

For now the snow gives me brief pause so that I might feel, create . . . .

Undo the needless wisdom that is bound to mistakes.

I'm happy this solstice turn has left me suspended in balance.