The green tendrils are extended, waiting. Months go by. Hope fades with little sign of life. Is it but a plastic imitation?
December is the cold season of waiting. Is it our losses that populate our darkness – a loved one? our health? a job? Is it the passage of time and our aging we grieve, as we await earth’s turning and the arrival of new light?
Is our inner landscape really desert dry, or is the impatience of waiting the signature of a gestation that one day, unannounced, delivers a cascade of sunrise pink blooms and a rebirth of possibilities?
sacredlead 
Ah, December. I may be the exception to the rule, but I relish the shortened days, knowing that after the 21st, they’ll be lengthening once again to bring renewed life, light and hope.
In the meantime, the cold and earlier evenings give me the chance to nest, light candles, crank up the fireplace and entertain friends. I cook, work on crafts projects and make my lists of the recipients for the goodies.
And I write and mail Christmas cards.
My inner landscape is at peace. And I am patient, because I know all good things come to those who wait. And so it is. Blessings!
Good to hear your voice again.!!
Lovely. Simple. Thank you dear friend. May your Christmas be blessed.
With Love,
Anne
Ahhhhh, thank you. Breathing now. Smiling now. Still waiting. Still. Peace.
Thanks !!!!!