Old Man Winter wears a beard of snow.
You can ice-skate in the frozen pools of his eyes. You can sled down his snowy chest. You can drink hot cocoa against his slow beating heart.
Old Man Winter takes a bride each December. You can see her shadow as you celebrate Christmas, as you dance around the Solstice fire, as you sing songs of peace and joy.
Winter shadows birth deep within our soul. Winter freezes our exteriors and carries us deeper, deeper, into the Cave of the Dreaming Bear.
In ice caves of our soul Winter shares secrets which can only be whispered at this time of the year. Winter mouths words whispering us back to our essence, back to the time before birth, back to the time before you skied into this fresh new world of white flakes and full moons.
Winter is a gift. Only when the world freezes, shuts down, covers in snow, will we find the deepest parts of ourselves…the parts we ignore in the easy breezy shine of summer’s sun. Heat keeps us at the surface, sunning on hot beaches beneath bright rays. Cold begs us to remember that which we forget in easier warmer times. Cold takes us down snowy paths, empty paths, paths where the moon illuminates all we’ve forsaken in our rush toward warmth.
Old Man Winter tugs at his frosty beard. He bellows frozen words across the woods. The trees dance in his icy wind. The snow pelts sideways.
Winter tiptoes in…but soon it shall settle at our hearth. Snow shall build its forest dens, deeper and deeper, until we fashion snowshoes to walk within the magic pristine world which Old Man Winter rules with his Christmas bride.