December 2009
Dear Friends,
Years ago now my nephew, Nick, gave me a book about snowflakes. It’s a field guide, really. It identifies and describes a mind-boggling number of different categories of snowflake. It offers discourses on snowflake fundamentals, snowflake symmetry, snowflake classification, and irregular snowflakes among other things. It ends with a section entitled “Finding Snowflakes.”
Hmmm. I’ve never seemed to have much trouble finding snowflakes; well, at least not in New Hampshire in winter. But I cannot remember the last time I stood outdoors with my head tilted toward the heavens and my tongue sticking out, waiting to savor the taste of just one snowflake. I cannot remember whether I’ve ever taken more than a quick minute or two to stretch my arm out to let snowflakes land on my coat sleeve, so I could study their beautiful forms.
Last December was the time of the terrible ice storm; I certainly wasn’t dropping everything to examine snowflakes then. I’ll bet you weren’t either. But this year, this year I can decide to enjoy a different kind of December. This December I am going to practice paying attention to nature, mother of us all. I am going to pay attention to raindrop and snowflake, to sunrise and sunset, to clouds forming and clouds dissipating as if by magic.
This December I am going to practice finding the magic in the mundane. This December I will not succumb to the hurry and flurry. Not this year. This December I will practice enjoying every second of every day of the month; no anxiety, no crabbiness over the ostentatious pressure to buy, buy, buy, no stressing out over what to get for whom at what cost.
This December I will dedicate to joy. Joy in each moment, each human being I meet in every day, each opportunity to give something of myself away, each chance to reach out a caring hand, and yes, joy in every snowflake I see.
In faith,
~Olivia
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