It is with some shyness that I find myself at a place where water, ice, and earth greet each other. On a chill morning, it is a quiet place, one that asks little of me. Indeed it is a place that barely acknowledges its own presence – a mere shift of cloud and sunlight would change these elements in profound ways. So I notice, and honor, the tenuousness of this visual moment. It’s what I’ve been looking for without knowing it. Tramping alone, I am cold and glad to be here.
I have been attentive to edges lately, edges and decay and reflections, my old friends. What draws me is the presence of these elements and something that I feel in my heart without concept or words. In this place I am at a borderline, a small, hectic outpost of change. It is inherent in this particular and personal mix of freezing water, earth, branches, leaves, animals, wind. And what attracts me is that in this bustling inevitability there is profound stillness. It resembles moments in meditation when stillness dominates even as action becomes imaginable. I aim to appreciate stillness in whatever form it manifests.
So, our days begin lengthen as they will. We do nothing but notice and are blessed by our knowledge that can bring hints of spring. We know the ice will melt, that imagined action will emerge from stillness. What we may also remember is that our heart need not wait for some thaw, that it might sing, right now, of the flowing even when ice remains solid, when it is cold and far from thaw.