It is with some shyness that I find myself at the place where water, ice, and earth meet. On this chill morning, it is a quiet place, one that asks little of me, indeed a place that barely acknowledges its own presence - a mere shift of cloud and sunlight would change these elements in profound ways. So I notice in my approach a sense of the tenuousness of this visual moment. It's what I've been looking for, almost without knowing it.
I am both cold and glad to be here.
I have been attentive to edges lately, edges and decay and reflections. What draws me here is the presence of these elements and something more that I feel in my heart without concept or words. In this place I am in the presence of the immanence of change, that it is inherent in this particular and personal mix of water, earth, and decaying leaves, this very one. And what attracts me is that within this inevitability there is profound stillness. It resembles moments in meditation when stillness dominates even as action becomes imaginable. I appreciate that stillness in whatever form it manifests.
The days lengthen as they will. We do nothing but notice and are blessed with our knowledge that foretells of spring. We know the ice will melt, that imagined action will emerge from stillness. What we may also remember is that our heart need not wait for some thaw, that it might sing of the flowing even now when the ice remains solid, when it is cold. It's for us to choose.