It’s the first full day of winter and I sit on my studio floor, cleaning out the old of last year to make room for the new. Chocolate-covered hazelnuts and damiana tea fuel my efforts. My clutter is most often piles of writing: pages of musings, poems, blog posts that never made it to the laptop, insights, to-do lists, phone numbers that must have been important at one time though I can’t remember who they belong to now.
As I relegate much of it to the recycling bin, I agree to send the stories out into the world. I took the time to write them, I can take the time to share them. One in particular catches my eye. It’s about rain. I wrote it in early fall when rain is expected.
Two days ago, deep into the snow of approaching Winter Solstice, it poured here in Calgary: a rare occurrence. Even more rare was the unmistakable petrichor that accompanied the downpour. With that recent event, I share the writing of my weather wisdom:
It is early fall. From my large living room window I watch the rain. Across the back path, three houses down, I see the neighbours’ young son, maybe three or four years-old, run barefoot out his back gate. Shirtless, wearing only pyjama bottoms, he holds a box over his head while he runs to pick raspberries on the other side of their fence.
He inspires me. When did I start to reject walking in the rain? I suddenly want to share his youthful exuberance. I set my mug of tea near the kitchen sink and head to the back door to fetch my rubber boots and jacket (I plan to travel further than the back fence, a journey requiring shoes).
By the time I step out onto the path, the rain has stopped. I am wildly disappointed but I walk anyway. The wind pushes my hair off my face. The earthiness of September fills my nose. I reach the end of the path before the intersection. I turn back toward home. The wind is now at my back. The rain returns. YES! I tilt my head back and droplets cover my face. I feel each footfall on the path. My back twinges. I find none of it good or bad, just happening.
Walking in the elements – all elements – reminds us to surrender to what is. It challenges our perception of discomfort. The young boy celebrated the rain, shirtless, with a smile on his face, holding a box over his head with his raspberry-stained hands. I see no discomfort there. I see only life.
While steeped in the energy of Winter Solstice, commit to re-wild yourself. Return to nature. Feel her wisdom.
If only for a moment.
Solstice blessings to you,
Stephanie Hrehirchuk - Author 