Light journal: celebrating a dwindling resource

After an early and lasting snow, warmth returned and gifted us a week of sunshine. As of yesterday, the one year anniversary of my little brother’s death, snow returned. Tonight we will have temps in the single digits. This is winter.

Snow softens light and sound.

Snow softens light and sound.

It makes for wonderful sunsets.

It makes for wonderful sunsets.

Remnants of the corn harvest glow in the low light of winter.

Remnants of the corn harvest glow in the low light of winter.

It turns cattails into tiki torches.

It turns cattails into tiki torches.

Soft browns and deep blues predominate.

Soft browns and deep blues predominate.

New snow reveals the wanderings of deer.

New snow reveals the wanderings of deer.

And mice.

And mice.

And voles.

And voles.

And big black dogs.

And big black dogs.

Until things fade to black and white and sleep comes to us all.

Until things fade to black and white and sleep comes to us all.

I feel so much anxiety around me. People worry about the election and what changes it will bring to their world. They worry about this pandemic and how to remain healthy in the midst of spreading illness. They worry about carbon and how to balance staying warm or cool and getting from place to place with not being drowned or burned or swept away. Here we are, in this tiny bubble of daily beauty, hoping to share whatever serenity we can. Deepening winter: a time for celebrating the light, any light, one can find in this world.