The days are increasingly shorter and the darkness seems to rise up out of the twilight air, faster than we can imagine.
A cold north wind blows down the hillside and swirls around tree roots and into each crevice of bark, as well as under door frames and through glass window panes. The stark branches, of quiet deciduous trees, stand as witness.
The land is covered in a blanket of snow and ice, while blue icicles hang from the corners of houses and barns. All of nature seems to be tucked up within itself.
The golden hues of autumn have given way to the monochromatic hues of winter. Heathered grey, soft black, haystack tan, weather white, green ash.
We pull our scarves closer around our faces and tuck our hands into furry mittens, yet somehow the cold seeps through and encourages us to hunker down indoors. We build all day fires, stoke up the thermostat and wrap ourselves in fleecy blankets.
Each morning, the sun rises and seems to slide along the horizon, keeping us in a state of perpetual wonder.
Lark Fox is a Priestess, an herb wyfe, Seer, intuitive healer, writer and ceremonialist.
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