The Makings of a Romanticized Life
Fresh flowers, in varying shades of pink and white, spilling over a borrowed blue vase.
Drinking the nice tea from a teacup.
Sharing with a friend.
Soft, pretty, pastel pajama sets—worn till late in the morning.
Painting my nails the perfect shade of pink, that just so happens to match a teacup.
Writing with a unicorn pen, pink ink of course.
Words gliding across the page leaving traces of sparkling gel ink.
Bubble baths cast in the golden glow of lit candles.
Pink pocket books.
Monograms in embossed gold.
Homemade treats on tiny colorful plates.
Floral napkins.
Winter walks under pastel skies.
Kayak tours with beloved friends.
Laughter rising high.
Midmorning tea parties with my mom and Grandmomma.
Dinners with friends.
Holding tiny baby hands moments before the new year rang in.
Long naps under cozy blankets—with the crackle of an electrical tv fire.
Cozy, slow mornings, with dim lights, hot tea, snuggled under a white comforter.
Moon glimpses.
Morning kisses.
Muffin baking.
Wedding wonder.
Winter storm.
Clear skies.
Poetry pouring out.
Dolphins swimming in the pink and gold colored harbor.
The presence enough to stop and marvel.
A grateful heart.
All the makings of a romanticized life.
Poetry, or at least my version of it, has helped me several times in the past few years. When I cannot string together full blown sentences or I do not like the full blown sentences and paragraphs I have written—the short bursts of a poem or list seem to just flow out. As the flow, the begin to take the shape of something that has been in my heart and mind, reflecting it in a way that make it truly okay to not be perfect.
The beginning of this year has had been primarily focused on rest and coziness. Trying to grant my mind, body, and spirit a chance to come down from the intensity that was our fall and holiday season. It has been focused on embracing the much needed and incredibly healing season that is winter. Winter too often gets a bad reputation and a lot of hate—most likely because in a world that tells us we are only worthy if we are always on the go, always working, and always producing rest is considered a weakness and is labeled things like unproductive or bad.
The gift of winter is that it is a true season, a pattern in creation that physically reminds us to slow down. To hunker down, get cozy and warm, to rest. It does this by the “deadness” of the trees, the long snoozes of animals that hibernate, the darkness of the sky, the chill of the air. And it extends to us the invitation to come inside, get cozy, rest yourself for a while.
The weather has been properly cold here in Charleston, a rare thing anymore. It has been the greatest gift to breathe in crisp winter air, feast my eyes on the most stunning pastel sunsets, wear warm sweaters with bright colored jackets, to slip into pajamas early, and curl up with warm cups of tea under fluffy comforters. I hope, wherever you find yourself, you might answer the call of winter and allow yourself to rest.
Peace and Blessings,
Margaret
