Winter is a brutal beauty.
It is a season of respite and release. Nature strips down to the absolute essentials. Branch. Ice. Frozen turf. There is a solitude in this simplicity that is requisite for reflection. With the onset of these stark months, the earth and my body shift inward.
I think about slumbering bears and ground squirrels buried in their dens. I think about this baby sleeping in my womb. Each animal body preparing in the darkness to emerge anew in the spring.
I think about my spirit growing quiet and my heart more observant. Hormones ensure that I feel everything more deeply. It is a more painful and purposeful existence. My primal body aches as it forms a new life and in so doing fosters a new self. This is the brutal beauty of pregnancy.
I think about transformation. Of the earth, of my body, of my soul. This trinity in transition is merely an echo of eternity. What is God but a heavenly alchemist who transforms dark to light?
To hear my husband tell me that he loves my body in transformation is to see a man who understands the necessity, the brutality, and the beauty of this, our cold and quiet winter.