There was a sheen on the rooftops as I opened the shutters. A finger-snap click of cold on my cheeks from the air. Something had shifted towards Christmas, or as close as a Christmas postcard as we tend to find in Provence.
Out with the dogs, Kipling turned and dashed through the grasses, frozen overnight, with manic energy. The shadows tinged blue, broken underfoot. My laughter burst into wispy trails. I felt my lungs expand, bright, as the sun cut through the fog draped on the tops of the mountain on the other side of the Rhône, where I knew that it would be dipping down into the prehistoric graves dug deep into the rock of St. Roman. Old and new, light and darkness blending then, as it does, until the frost began to melt. So I doubled back to get my camera, as I do, exchanging the lenses to my 55 macro so that I could lean in closer.
Looking, I forget where I am. I know that doesn’t really make literal sense and that is why I find it intoxicating. Just a little bit overwhelmed by beauty, that kindred swoon. What a gift it is when our heart beats so hard that the pulse dances in our wrists. For whatever reason.
This is my beribboned box, quite possibly the only that I will open.
It appears that this will be my Year Without a Santa Claus, a holiday as in discordance with the past as all of the 2016 that has come before it.
I know that I am not alone in bubbling up questions of why and how this season. What constitutes full and meaning. Maybe not the only one who is not listening to carols as they are a bit too memory laden this go ’round. Because it has been a confusing time for so many as the moon will tell you if you listen.
Pourtant, I am certain that we are all still somehow searching with childlike impatience, as there are so many presents to enjoy. It may not be typical. And there might not be a tree. But they are most certainly there.
I leaned in. The crystal shards and liquid diamonds reflected hope, dotted and strewn. I balance in the midst of them with crackling knees that are wet in the dew, in good health; being creative, the breath that continues to breathe me. More than a bit lost still, yes, admittedly, but determined. I will find my way. Purpose will come but how lucky that I love and am loved. And that is as good as any traditional mistletoe kiss. This is me, condensed.
Lifting my head, I had to squint from the switch of focus, a line extending from the dance of the minuscule outwards to the far distance. Two forms are engulfed in the last of the golden mist. They are so far on the horizon as to already be in 2017. The corner of my lips lifted slightly as I looked forward to the unknown, in and beyond what the next 24 hours might hold.
With much Love and Gratitude to you for your kindness and continued support throughout 2016.
You are still here. Merci avec tout coeur,
H.
Many, many kisses in return, lovely Maria. I wish that you were here so that I could give you a warm hug. I know, hugs are very American, but sometimes they are what works. I am so sorry for your losses and am moved to hear that you are both able to honor your grief while looking forward to. You inspire me. I hope that you have a wonderful dinner with your friends!
Thank you so much, Lyn. And I hope the same for you!
I do, Patricia. I do. 🙂
Warmest wishes to you too!
And to you and Mrs. Abstract, Edgar.
I am so glad that you could hear that. It is there. Not a bright light sometimes, but definitely there.
Happy New Year to you too, my beautiful friend. xox
Hello! You went to Argentina!! I am so behind on what is going on with everyone. I hope that it was an amazing trip. Your advice is perfect and exactly what I needed to hear today. I have been, but have been slipping up a bit in how I have been talking to myself, so important.
Taking your hug in with gratitude and sending you my wishes for a very beautiful Christmas.
I am so grateful that you came out of lurking to deliver this lovely gift of cheer to me. Thank you, Eleni. And I have written about this a while back, but for some reason, Life has offered me the fortunate chance to become friends with quite a few women in their 70s to 80. I am so grateful for the perspective and presence that they share. They inspire me greatly.
Merry Christmas to you too, Eleni.
Thank you, Elizabeth. xo
Oh, Puzzled, I just kind of write like that these days. 😉 Not all the time though and I can easily understand your being perplexed. There are two links within the text for newer readers but they aren't super obvious either. It is definitely an open readership and I really care about the community of great people who are here.
If you go back to say, mid-2015 on back in the archives, there is a ton of what you are looking for. If not, there are other great blogs such as My French Country Home and Our French Oasis who also handle these subjects.
Of course I did! 🙂 I love that special.
Love you so much, Sister. It was so good to talk to you yesterday. Put my ship back on course…I hope! love you love you love you