The farm feels like we all seem to feel this near the darkness of winter’s solstice. Solstice means to stand still. We hold our breaths.
Waiting for what comes next. Also we are dreaming of new. Something fresh that still lies deep in slumber.
The liminal space between inhale and exhale holds us tenderly. We wonder for a moment that breathe will indeed fill again.
So much trusting.
The potential. Promises we make from a place of untested hope.
After the holidays are complete, winter is simply winter again. Dark. Cold. Still.
The farm feels just like us.