Winter Brings A New Year

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Calligraphy by Kelsey Malie

I’m seeing a lot of “2016 Wrap Ups” in the creative community right now – everyone choosing their favorite images or projects from the year…projecting next year’s goals and recalling favorite moments from 365 days too quickly gone by. I see a lot of joy and excitement and I think it is lovely. I found myself writing similar things last year.

However, I don’t really want to do that now…because 2016 was painful for me and I would feel I was fabricating a little too much.

I am very uncomfortable writing that, because I actually worry a lot of that giving away even that little part of myself may not be safe for public spaces. But I do think, if even one person reads this who is also struggling…maybe they will feel less alone. I don’t pretend to have the sort of magical unicorn influence to energize you for next year, but I can at least say, that I know none of us are actually alone (even when it feels that way).

Winter is a covering. It allows a time for rest and reflection…the soil heals and moves beneath the layers of frost and snow in preparation for whatever Spring may bring. It can be a bitterly cold time that makes your bones feel hollow and long for warmth again. But it’s a season, like all the others, and therefore necessary.

Spring is on the way, bringing all the colors and fragrances back to us…so, how can we not have just a wee bit of hope? Accomplishments? Game-Plans? Diets? Hustle? Goals? I am too tired friends.

Yet I will always hold onto hope in anticipation of the life that spring brings.

A Happy New Year to you friends, creatives, clients — no matter where you are at. Take comfort, take joy.

 

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It sifts from leaden sieves,
It powders all the wood,
It fills with alabaster wool
The wrinkles of the road.

It makes an even face
Of mountain and of plain, —
Unbroken forehead from the east
Unto the east again.

On stump and stack and stem, —
The summer’s empty room,
Acres of seams where harvests were,
Recordless, but for them.

It ruffles wrists of posts,
As ankles of a queen, —
Then stills its artisans like ghosts,
Denying they have been.

-Emily Dickinson

 

Posted in Life + Thoughts