Tuning out and turning in. Shifting the gaze towards the holiness of the subtle, the mundane, the small things. The quiet joy of warm socks and soft landings. The ache of muscles and tendons after the wood has been hauled and the path cleared. Slowing down and tucking in with revelry for the dark and an eye towards longer days. Don’t be fooled by her quiet beauty, winter is a bawdy beast. One part clawfoot seductress, one part mighty destroyer. She’ll bring you to your knees then cradles you into the folds of a sweet lullaby. Pine pitch and deep longing sticking to your fingers in a season where we all decide to believe in magic again. Childlike wonder and ripened wisdom. Ash and snow. Salt and sugar. Tend and slumber. Fruitful even as the ground freezes over, something at the core stays burning. Warming your bones and stirring the muse. Ready to dance you through the fertile darkness.

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