Winter's Deep Solace

The most peaceful place I have ever been is a place I only visit in winter. In winter, the animals that call this place home retreat to warmer places to rest and conserve the energy needed for the months ahead.

My first visit to this magical space was filled with the richness of ambient sounds—the swish of my skis as I glided along its trails. I found myself stopping often, to breathe and wait for the trees to greet me with the subtle rustling of boughs and the dropping of snow. The willows that line the river provide privacy for moose and their young in the forest. The icing film provides safe passage, camouflaged from view.

The living sculptures that make up the canvas of this place leave you doubting it is real. If you remain still in this soundless space, you can hear sounds at levels not often available to your thinking mind, creating mental snapshots to retreat back to after you have gone.

Poets have long understood the power of capturing felt sensations in notebooks. They gather inklings and aha's to be visited later in the warm indoors.

What draws us in to reconnect with these wild spaces, to nourish our minds and bodies through perception?

Reading back through this journal entry from 2020 is a reminder of my experience of deep solace. It becomes a record of my experience that can guide me through life's challenges and transitions. It is a personal record of the truth of my experience.

Personal narratives like this one are more than just written records of our lives; they are mirrors reflecting our growth, guides to our healing, and gateways to self-discovery. In our stories, we can find the power to understand, heal, and connect. They stand as a testament to the enduring power of the human narrative, a means by which we explore and celebrate the journey of life.