Why does it feel so twisted to take down the tree every year? I’m happy, yes, to make a little space. But I’m mostly concerned that I’ve got an empty space that I’ve got to heat somehow, that its too nordically sparse. that somehow a cold bear will find its way to hibernate in that corner, while snow falls on him.
and there will be a lone figure walking off into the shadows between the trees, and it will be me.
Today is bright and sunny though, and I’ve been looking at seed catalogues a lot, but it all feels fraudulent somehow. This tease on these cold days is just a delusion of mine own, that spring will ever arrive. my intellect knows that it does, that it gets colder first, and wet, and then life bursts forth. but my animal brain, the primitive goo riding side-saddle next to my internal glowing orb? that goo is convinced that a bear is coming.
let it be sung.
-lovelove, in january.
One renowned garden writer wrote with shock at the idea of being able to garden in all 4 seasons. “No, no , no,” he shouted from the page. He needed winter to relax, put things in perspective, read, comb through seed and plant catalogues, reenvision his garden, dream. Winter is what makes the whole year work, he proclaimed. He said nothing about bears.
I just guffawed out loud.