To Begin an End

The beach in winter looks exactly like you'd think it would: heavy gray clouds, choppy waters, empty shores, lonely fishermen standing out on rocky piers.  The wind cuts through everything: flags whip violently, lone papers skitter across open roads, people walk with hoods drawn up around their faces.  My sweaters arrived just in time (thanks mom!), I've procured space heaters to take the edge of the biting cold and thanks to a quick google search, Gareth has some newly purchased consignment sweaters that he wears around the town.  Fall (if it was ever truly here) has quietly slipped into the roots of the trees along with it's companions Summer and Spring, and Winter holds court now.  Her robes roll out grandly as she sweeps through the streets, the leaves of the palms curling up as she passes.

It is a fitting season to file for divorce.

I am not of the theological leaning to assume that all things happen according to a plan.  It seems to me that the Creator of the Totality of All Things would have more pressing duties than to artfully arrange my life schedule.  But perhaps there has been some Greater wisdom in the timing of my new call and my decision to end my marriage.  Winter is not truly a season of death, of course; it is merely a season where the earth rests from the frantic business of producing life, where it draws its beating heart deep within its core and waits for the warmth of future days that will encourage it to begin again.  Leaves fall and flowers fade and greenery becomes a memory, but death does not lurk like a spectre beneath these silver skies.  It is merely Winter, gliding just past our vision, whispering to the earth and sea and sky: "Sleep, Sleep, and Wake again soon."

I try not to think of my divorce as a death.  It is more helpful for me to imagine myself as a tree, submitting to the turn of seasons and releasing those leaves that once held life and now must be released to decay, to enrich the earth in which I grow.  There is grief in the winter winds that swirl around me, watching as the husk of that which was green and vibrant being tossed in the sky and lost in the distance.  But my Winter God murmurs hope to me, assuring me that by letting go of that which must be given to the ground, I am preparing for a new crop of life.  I listen to the slow and sleepy song of the season and protect my pulsing core of life, believing that these days will pass and warmth will one day creep up again into my roots.

I have finally begun the processes that will legally end my marriage.  And I wept to do so, the tragedy of this future (and it's preceding past) cutting me anew.  But my tears are the falling leaves of my soul, a prismatic purging that clears the way for the unknown life to come.  I wait now; wait with stripped limbs for the passing of time that lead out of the cold winter of these present days.

(go here for more info on the artist:http://lnx.dys-art.eu/?q=node/201)