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.
Oh, Heather! I've found your blog only this morning and have just binge read so many of your posts. You write with honesty and beauty. And your photographs — oh, my!
I hesitate to comment on anything you've reported on here other than to say thank you for sharing your journey. In seeking community, the differing details of our lives are less important than our need to feel recognized and reflected in others' lives. This morning your blog has made me feel community.
Merci et bonne année 2017 (and some hugs, too). God bless us everyone.
Dear Heather, a very Merry Christmas from Toronto. Best wishes for the New Year. Good things ahead.
Joyeux Noel and Merry Christmas from the Mediterranean Sea to la Mer Medirranee!
Gina, I am so grateful for your good thoughts and am still sorry that we did not get to meet in Arles. I will deliver your hugs and treats, it is a promise.
Thank you Lily…I am sending the same warm wishes to you!
Much Love back to you, Bernadette.
You are so wonderful, Maria. I hope to meet you some day. 🙂
hugs and kisses and "sweet" words like "I like you so much, I am eating you alive"!!! are very greek too. God bless you!
Dear Heather, You have had a very difficult Year. I am so sorry. I am sending healing thoughts and hope that they will do their work.
Merry Christmas and please give Ben and Kipling an extra hug and an extra Christmas treat. ox, Gina
Such beautiful photos and words. Wishing you a Merry Christmas, Heather, and a very good 2017.