It is that time of year when holiday busy-ness is past and too soon in the day the light fades to black. Like many others I know, the winter months are some of the most difficult for me to navigate. There seem to be fewer distractions to keep my thoughts focused on my outward life and my inner life seems to curl up and hibernate. I am not a big fan of television land. I am not a mall walker or a phone talker. I am impatient with puzzles and bouts of creativity are short lived. I do find I can lose myself in books but I am not convinced that endless fantasy diving is, after all, good for what ails me. It does help the transition from day to night and even keeps me company in the middle of the night, but like I said, I am not convinced this is an entirely healthy way to traverse the season.
In an effort to break with my routine, I am sitting in a local coffee shop, 
even though I have already had my daily ration of caffeine. Many of my clergy colleagues use local cafes for casual meet ups with parishioners and friends. There are certain benefits to getting out into the community, to hold audience in a public place, to capture a bit of energy from others. I have no particular designs on connecting with anyone I might know. I do not announce that I am here or send out FB invites. I just sit and sip.
For about the hundredth time (probably more) I open my photo files and think, “Today I will put these in some order, delete the duplicates, discard anything that is out of focus, rename the images. I will put like with like, tag the faces of my grandsons so I can find them easier. I will think about making albums. I will.
I am lost from the start. I pull up images from the summer months; a time and a place that fills me with light and gives me an odd sense of being grounded. Some places are like that. I sit and sip and linger. 
I remember the sounds of the lake, water stroking the shoreline, wind in the branches of the birch, the thrum of a hummingbird at the feeder. I recall the spot along the path where the fragrance of sun warmed pine needles stops me in my tracks and I wonder for a moment if this isn’t the most marvelous smell, ever.
When is the last time you stood barefoot on the earth and felt your own pulse in your feet? Did you notice the way your toes grip the soil as if they could root themselves where you stand? Everyone needs a place to feel connected with the earth, even if it is just a postage stamp of grass in a park. Can you remember a time when you simply stood barefoot on the earth?
I cannot see the long stalks of the water lilies buried in the silt and mud of the lake bottom. Hidden are the turtles, frogs and fish that weave between the green shoots. I can only close my eyes and feel the drifting of the boat.
Summer days are expansive, long and lingering, compared to the days of winter. My photos remind me of a certain awareness I had while storing up what I would need for my self imposed hibernation. I am nearly half way through it. As I click through a few more images I take another sip of my tea, look about and notice the seats are filling up around me. Where has the morning gone? I am breathing a bit more freely and feeling lighter. I am. It’s time to go home. The photo project will have to wait for another day.
One Deacon's Journey 
