Hazel River

Part I

Right now I am alone, in this Hazel River home, sitting in front of a fire, the one I have been feeding with twigs and old limbs I have scoured from the woods outside the door. I have thought of this, my alone time, to write and feel the quiet, and think outloud, I could do this, do this alone, rent a spot so beautiful as this, and feel the reverance of nature’s church for a few days. I could do this. And then as quickly as that thought comes, as I carry the twigs and broken down branches in, to feed the fire, I feel the wash of love and spirit and positivity of these women I have chosen to spend the weekend with, their laughter and genuineness leaving the house full with companionship, even as they hike the mountain above our lovely home, on the Hazel River, for the afternoon.

This view across the room sized bay window surrounds an expanse of mountain and running river and patches of snow still lighting the ways of mountain paths, and the bleakness of winter so delightful, the starkness, as if naked and vulnerable we all come to release, relax, breath in. In winter we are all allowed to be blue, and vulnerable, and stark. Knowing full well our homes are warm and filled with the love of our dear companions in life, the ones pulling us back, and cheering us on, all in the stark daylight of winter.
There is lingering love and connection in a house that fills itself with the brightness of spirits dancing together in blinding light, where no one can really see the way. And yet together, the path is always clear.
I am of the quiet mind, the laughing belly, the single thought, and yet in this circle of friendship and communion with who we are and who we allow ourselves to be, I see further than I thought I ever would see.

Part II

Right now the daylight is beginning. The window has turned from black beyond the glass to light tracings of the day, revealing in a moment the arching curve of the mountain ridge, the glistening of the river as it rushes by, on it’s way, with purpose today. Not meandering as it does farther up the path. Right now the sky is blueing, a chalked blue for these first daylight hours.

Who am I to say what gifts have come with this day. I can only know the now of me, and color in the past with the memories and beliefs that have traveled here with me today. I have wondered this as I sip my coffee and greet the trees beyond the glass. What gifts will I bring to this day?

There is a light reflecting in the glass from the hallway light behind me. A beacon of light emersed in this sketching of our life here on Hazel River. I see this light for how it brings me in, I choose the magic of the sight of it placed on it’s own terms above an empty field and sitting in air along the tree line. Can I go back to my childhood dreams and see this light for what it can become for me, a tinkerbell or a Santa’s sleigh,  reminding me of magic, and where it comes from within me.

Right now I am filled with beginnings for this day. A last day on Hazel River, a beginning for the week ahead. To honor beginnings is to understand loss, the  gifts we can only know once they are gone.

Richmond, Virginia, USA.