I decided that a nice relaxing soak in the hot tub would do me good.
So I stripped off clothing and piles of silver jewelry (the only time that it does come off, BTW) and put on a plush terry cloth robe and stepped out onto the back deck.
The snow has mostly melted, leaving behind it the piles of clutter that were so nicely buried beneath it.
The backyard resembles more of a junkyard than a place of nature and repose.
I have not done this.
I would never do this to Mother Earth.
Regardless, I opened the hot tub and watched the steam come off the hot water get whisked away like some ghostly apparition darting to be free. I slipped off my warm robe and felt the cold winter air wrap itself around me like a Popsicle wrapper.
I slid into the tub. The hot water was as warm as a lovers bed. I laid there awhile, surveying the barren trees in the cold sunset light. The grey sky fading into a pale orange at the horizon. The silhouette of the stark trees made me want to get out my watercolors and black ink to document it's stark beauty.
I listened to the trees creak in the cold wind, while I was bathed in an embryonic comfort. The wind whipped my face with it's chilly bursts, while the water steamed and relaxed my body and embraced me with it's enfolding waves of deep meditation.
I heard the call of a lone goose, calling, calling, calling it's mate. They mate for life you know. I felt sorry for this one. It had lost it's mate somehow. Either by storm, death or direction. Yet the goose kept calling.
This time of year is a time of yearning. A time of "in between" or the "tween time". Indeed, I was also out in the elements at dusk, another "tween" time. A time of magic and wonder. A time of thought and pondering.
It's not really winter.
It's not really spring.
It's the "tween" time.
Some of our goals have been met and come to fruition. The storms have mostly passed. The cold is on it's way out. Some of our dreams have been realized...to be replaced with....what?
It is before the spring. It is before the dawn.
A time of rest perhaps.
A time of meditative thought.
A time of impending change.
Maybe I'm reading Plato too much.
I await a dream to come to me and to burst open this cold ground and to flower......
and in the "tween" time.....
I will float.