Outside my window, it’s misty and gray. My dear husband is depressed looking at it. He says it’s dying outside, and his poor woodland friends are slowly starving to death. (Which is kinda funny if you knew how much he feeds them all. The squirrels are as big as cats. Heck, maybe they ate the cats.) To me, it looks romantic out there. Like, the setting of a gothic romance, kind of romantic. Like, Heathcliff on the moors, romantic (here in Indiana, our “moors” are just flooded harvested fields, but, whatever.)
I say my observation out loud, and Hubs turns and looks at me, and wonders if I’m broken. (You see, I don’t normally use the word “romantic” in conversation, preferring the comfort of explosions to anything warm and fuzzy.) So, the hubs takes my temperature, and concocts various household remedies to stave off what just might be the flu or a brain aneurysm. I just laugh and sigh.
Hubs means well. He just doesn’t quite understand that during this time of year, I need to believe in the magic of the everyday. With the crazy that’s in my face (almost literally) every working day from Black Friday till December 26th (and sometimes beyond) I need to believe in these little bits of magic. Like the magic of watching the world outside slowly wind down and go to sleep. I like seeing the water droplets clinging to the naked branches outside, and can’t wait for that moment when I wake to see that those droplets are frozen in place. It’s like seeing a moment preserved.
In these moments, I feel a little like Mulder in X-Files: “I want to believe.” I want to believe in the beauty of the everyday. I want to believe that most people want to be generous and kind. I want to believe that there are still noble and virtuous people in this world that are worth fighting for. I want to believe that there are others out there who can enjoy the magic of contentment and satisfaction outside of material things. I want to believe.
So, here I am, looking outside, thankful for this time of rest and quiet that are essential for those times when growth and strength are required, and am enchanted that nature instinctively “gets this.” It also reminds me to stay curious, because there’s always more going on behind the scenes, more beneath the surface. There may be other things that motivate the craziness I’ve seen, more things that I have a right to know or understand, and upon which I should tread lightly.
For now, I have my smooth, black coffee, my view of a magical world, and the promise of a day that just might surprise and delight me. And, if not, I can always watch a heart-warming holiday movie. Like, Die Hard.