Barn chores finished now, but I'm warm in my multiple layers and nothing urgent is waiting in the house so I've paused in the busy-ness of the day and found a seat on the tractor bucket. The sky is darkening and overhead, in the early night sky, the moon is shining and watching me. An ocassional car goes past on the road, but other than that, it's quiet. Ambra and Sierra are just on the other side of the fence, still searching for the last blades of grass from their supper hay. Their feet make a crunch and squeaking sound in the snow occasionally. Every so often they lift their heads and look towards the forest, perhaps scanning the woods for the deer that emerge sometimes from the edges.
The big, old aspen, whose leaves shake and rustle in the summer with the sound of waterfalls, now stands as a black, bare silouhette against the fading sunset. No more shocking pinks and oranges, only a soft cream colour tinged with mauve and lavender and grey. And over all, whiteness and quiet and peace. And I realize that inside me, there is quiet and peace at a level that I never thought possible. This is the bliss that I have yearned for all my life, the completeness and sense of safety that seemed to have escaped me until now. I wish that this could be bottled and given, not sold, but given to all the world. For to sell what I feel would be a travesty against the very spirit that fills me and walks with me as I move through this world now. And having received, the world would be inclined to slow down for those who have trouble keeping up, and would be inclined to reach out a gentle hand to lift up the fallen, and to rejoice in this spectacular world that we've been gifted with. Yes, here I have found my bliss.
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