The bell has been ringing too often summoning busyness. This is the time I crave the sweetness of silence, to sit at the deep pool and taste its blue waters, to let its stillness seep through me like nightfall.

The day is slow; slowly the clouds float across the blue face of sky, islands in the ocean. Slowly the autumn chill fills the space beneath, a steady presence. There is no wind here, it is still, still and chilled and patient. It slowly filters through my skin, through my breath, until I too am filled with its stillness.

This is the fulcrum between what has been and what is to come, heavy arms that are balanced finely on this point, this now, this me, a V so finely tuned that as you stop here to feel the balance, you can sense the harmonics of this moment of weightlessness between the two weights we all carry.

The snow has filled our world. Everywhere is white, smooth, beautiful. It feathers even the thinnest twigs and bunches its blessing on all the leaves. It sits quietly in the cold, cold air, its reason for coming, its permission to stay.

Another still day, another day of grey skies and damp air, of bare branches and soggy remnants of leaves underfoot. This is so often our winter, not the frosty cold-hugging landscapes we imagine from another season. The little is seems to offer is its own gift, a resting in tune with the trees, a solitude and solace, a place of peace.