We made a fire in the fireplace this afternoon. It still glows. I lit candles and made wassail, simmering apple cider, cinnamon, cloves, lemons, limes and oranges. I re-read Giovanni's Light by Phyllis Theroux and A Cup of Christmas Tea by Tom Hegg. In the National Wildlife's December Treasury, I came across these words by May Sarton from her poem, "The House in Winter."
This is the last stanza of the poem, The House in Winter by May Sarton.
There is a wilder solitude in winter
When every sense is pricked alive and keen
For what may pop or tumble down or splinter.
The light itself, as active as a painter,
Swashes bright flowing banners down
The flat white walls. I stand here like a hunter
On the qui vive, though all appears quite calm,
And feel the silence gather like a storm.
Mitchell's mother wrote about Mitchell's Life Celebration today on their blog at Caring Bridge. She writes of the sun, and the clouds with the silver linings guiding their decisions, and the drops of rain, the tears that fell at the end of the ceremony late last night.
Continuing prayers for Mitchell's family who courageously shine like silver linings amidst great pain.