Minnesota and Colorado quickly taught me to celebrate the emerging beginnings of spring which bequeathed only two layers of clothes not three or more. But it is late fall and winter that stirs my soul.

The trees’ nakedness adorns their dance. Their bends, twists, and intertwining limbs and branches create a music best heard by the heart. “The earth has its music for those who will listen.”* The ultimate sounds of silence as the earth nestles into itself. My soul craves its symphony. My feet, seemingly always in a frenetic pace, stand still before its theater. My eyes, always piecing the puzzles together, soften like a wood flute solo. My heart bows in a standing ovation to the Conductor. The totality of my being is left in silent awe at the simple beauty of perfected imperfection.

And so to all, as we enter the human season that is a polar opposite of nature’s season, I offer to you this symphony of rest.

*Reginald Holmes, “The Magics of Sounds,” in Fireside Fancies