Bare Naked in Winter

I love deciduous trees in winter, when they are naked before me and I can see into their souls.  What do I see beneath the eaves of trees with no leaves? What lies behind their wintry hibernation?  Which knocks reach their dormant doors?

Survival - 

Slow...everything...moves...so...slowly... until it seems nothing is happening at all.  Water quits moving to their tips; their dry bark huddles to pause all glowy growth and energy flow. Self-preservation looks a lot like trees in the winter - slowing life down to become centered again, grounded in a sense. Pausing the overwhelming flow of energy that comes with spring, fall, summer and simmering down to my core.  I want to make it through another winter.  I become bare naked, like the trees.

Raw Beauty - 

With my skin exposed, the natural elements take a special toll.  Wind knocks off many of my dead branches, people look at me a lot less often, I break at the cracks.  I feel so much less beautiful, in all honesty.  But, on certain days, I enjoy my own raw beauty, and I sing along with the sore throat of the dry tree bones.

Skeleton Hopelessness - 

Dry bones that sometimes make me feel it will never end. Winter is going to stay around forever, my lips will always be chapped, and I will always remain unloved. I feel weak, thin, frail, crackly, and flat-out hopeless.  I'm dead inside, yet I still have potential to thrive.

Eager Hopefulness - 

And then I feel it once again.  My nakedness is only for a time.  I desire to love it for what it is - a clearing of my palette for a new time of growth.  I'm not growing weaker, I'm growing stronger.  Every single day that I survive the winter in my nakedness, I become woven into the strength of the earth. 

I see the trees as a mirror, reflecting everything about me.  Things are seasons. Sometimes people are seasons.  It doesn't mean it hurts any less when they fall away.  I imagine trees have some kind of grief over their lost leaves they've nurtured for two seasons.  Maybe the colors are a sweet farewell in the fall, to make the hard time ahead just a little more bearable.

To all my dead leaves, I miss you.  You will always be a part of my history, a part of my story of survival, a part of my memories of thriving.  I love you and I know you will make your way back to me.  As you decompose and seep into the earth, your love is recycled into my roots and tubes.  I think this is the only way I know how to let you go - in believing you're never really leaving, just changing the way you love me. I'm bare naked in winter, and I'm excited for spring.  For now, I dance, unabashedly. Winter is just one season.