Winter
In the quiet days of winter, spring feels quite distant.
A mockery of sorts - of joys - come and gone.
It is in the quiet dormant days of winter - that the seed must die making way for the new.
The quietness of the cocoon… producing the beauty.
The grain of wheat falling… ushering in the new.
The body - feeble and weak… trading its former glory to become holy glory.
The quiet days of winter…
Quiet.
Still.
Good.
Sacred.
