It's the dawn before Christmas and miracle of miracles the third day in a row that my entire family has slept until six. Which means, I am here by the wood stove with tea, the glittering lights of the Christmas tree, and you. The snow that fell two days ago was quickly covered by a thick coating of ice, but no complaints: the ground, at night, under moonlight, is white and we have all attached spikes to the bottom of our boots in order to make it to the car and if it snows just another inch we will be able to take out the new sled and, well, fly.
The world feels (surprisingly) very much full of good things to me right now and ripe with connection. Connectivity: the reason woodbird is here, and for the past few days I have felt a bounty of strands of love and common ground slipping between the trees into our clearing here in the woods and forming a web that bring me joy and levity and deep gratitude. I have many e-mails and letters I want to write, but for now: thank you for that. We hold each other up in this world. You and me and you and me and you and me. And this stunning piece of art above? I found it at Deborah's blog where she has sweetly shared our winter song "Stratton Mountain Tragedy" and the story behind it. It is a song of winter miracles. Enjoy.