December

At the end of autumn, silence returns like a cold wind to fields and woods. This is in contrast to early autumn when raucous flocks of blackbirds congregated like nervous travelers in an airport, and crickets scratched out a last song before dying in the open fields, and small animals scurried anxiously in the dry underbrush, and battered butterflies beat their tattered wings against the cool air, and frogs made one last complaint before burrowing into the mud at the bottom of the pond, and we humans feverishly took up the noisy challenge of work in defiance of this natural reverie of autumn. Nature, however, forever returns itself and us one wintry day to silence and stillness as if our little procession were a marching band disappearing around a corner, leaving only a trace of melody to drift away on the air. In time, this silence will deepen into the stillness of snow at the winter solstice, and the starry heavens will bend low over the stubble-strewn fields. Those who become silent with the year’s descent will hear the heavens sing like so many choirs in the stalls of the night. Almost unnoticed, then, winter will begin its ascent, and the little planet, our home among the distances, will lean once more into the path of light — and everything will begin again.

From The Daybook Winter 1991

Opening reflection chosen and read by Nancy L.

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I have loved the tall ships of Camden harbor since I was a kid. When we would camp at the State Park we would get up early to watch them load the ships and set sail on Monday mornings. If it was clear we could see the ships all the way out to Penobscot Bay. If it was foggy the ships would mysteriously disappear as the headed off. Earlier this month I had a chance to visit Camden in the “off season” and the first thing I did was drive down to the harbor. There I was greeted by the ghost like shrink wrapped ships. I laughed out loud at the image of a giant hairdryer used to mold the wrap to the ships. Later I reflected on the protection from winter storms the wrap provided. Moving through the seasons of grief since my husband’s death two year ago, it occurred to me that we all need some time of protection from life’s storms. I know that come spring the wrap will come off and the ships will be readied for passengers and parties. But for now, in this season of hunkering down and seeking shelter, these magnificent ships are sealed against the elements and storms. I found myself yearning for that quiet time after the chaos of the holidays to pull in, do some reading, recharge and prepare for spring when we shed our wraps and embrace the new life awaiting us. 

Reflection by Liz M-N

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Advent is the beginning of the new liturgical year leading to the beginning of the calendar year, a perfect time for reflection and new beginnings.

Photo and reflection by Denise P.

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I focused on “stillness” from the opening reading as I began my walk. My Mom has been struggling with illness, and I hoped and prayed for her comfort and peace. The day was clear and still and bright — and as the cool wind blew gently I focused on the warmth in my heart space. If only I can remember this moment of warmth and stillness as life’s difficulties blow in on cold breezes.  

Photos and reflection by Nancy L.