Wintertime is as good a time as any for both rest and recuperation through long gloomy nights, and occasional short fits of energy bringing rapid and sometimes quite unexpected alterations to circumstances.
Most of the major upheavals in my life have transpired around midwinter solstice, whether due to some universally acknowledged transcendental karmic planetary arrangement or more probably just pure damnable or fortunate luck. The circumstances have never been inclined to settle in one particular direction, rather have chosen to reflect the attention span of the meerkat, one moment positive, upright and alert, the next negative, distracted and decidedly languid.
Three times I have moved continents, on each occasion in the last ten days of December, leaving the old as Christmas lights were being affixed to tree, bush, and house alike, arriving upon the new as the colored bulbs sprang into illumination. I suppose such a triplet might suggest a pattern, but long-term planning has never been a particular strength in my arsenal, I am far more inclined to act on impulse than wariness. Thankfully in no instance has ship ever sunk. or plane plummeted, disasters of any serious nature have been singularly avoided, but solely I must quickly add by the blessings of good fortune than through any cunning preemptive action on my behalf. My last intercontinental jaunt was between the United Kingdom and the United States, taken but two days before Christmas Eve itself. When I left the streets of London echoed to the strains of carols and I arrived in Seattle in the very eye of a blanketing snow blizzard. Twas a most seasonal journey, tracking the festive route a certain man dressed in red would undertake but two nights later, but in a magical reindeer powered wooden sled rather that a base jumbo jet.
I have seen snow fall every year of my life, sometimes in but small flurries, more often. like that day in Seattle, in awesome abundance. Momentarily, I find myself yearning for one more blessing.