The Language of Rest
For goodness' sakes, take the nap.
It’s been raining off and on for several days now, cycling between mists that cling to your eyelashes and raindrops so fat they bounce back up out of the gutters. We passed midwinter and the long dark, and my annual desperate craving for spring is even more powerful this year with no frost or snow to soften winter’s beauty. But the mild weather offered a gift today: I got outside with my straw broom to breathe some fresh air and sweep away the clumps of soggy leaves from our walkway and I spied more than a dozen narcissus shoots poking their noses up in the garden.
It’s easy to forget how much colour there is this time of year. Spring and autumn are riotous, screaming for your attention with brilliant blooms and leaves aflame, when even the greens make your eyes ache. These weeks surrounding winter solstice are quieter and muted as everything turns inward and down. This time of year, you have to pay closer attention to the language of the outside world, like leaning in to hear a whisper from a loved one. And the greys and muddy browns, the spongy mosses and the carpet of leaf skeletons across my yard all seem to murmur the same thing: Rest. It’s time to rest.
I’m so fortunate to have a family that is willing to support my rabid love of reading, and this year was no exception. I received nine (count ‘em!) books, some of them library reads that I’d fallen in love with and some brand new to me. Truly, I have a gluttonous TBR at the moment. (And I’m not counting the three that I pre-ordered before Christmas which will be here soon.)
With my husband home from work this week, I’ve been able to spend hours on end holed up with my cat, reading reading reading, while he keeps our kids busy. I even read One Dark Window in a single day, a feat I haven’t managed since before I had babies. Barricaded into my fortress of books, I’ve been refilling my creative well, my sanity well, my everything well, and it’s been so needed. I’ve also spent a not insignificant amount of time in bubble baths, listening to music on my headphones (Hozier, The Crane Wives and Noah Kahan are all favourites right now) and doing complex and beautiful jigsaw puzzles with my husband.
All this to say, though the world often seems fixated on setting resolutions and goals and being proactive and productive, it’s also perfectly acceptable to take these strange, liminal days and just rest. Read (or re-read) the book you’ve been thinking about. Take the nap. Watch your favourite movie. Eat foods that nourish you and make you feel warm and full and connected to tradition. Listen to the small animal that lives in your heart and burrow deep into the things that bring you comfort.
And when you open the door to 2024, and the wind or rain or sun washes over your skin, the world will still be there. Waiting patiently for you.
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good read..... good advice!