| Tuesday, December 12, 2023 | | Tidings of Comfort and Joy | December. The year winds down, the daylight dims, and many of us find ourselves longing for more light on dreary, overcast, cold days. That is the good news of the winter solstice. And this year, it really is darkest before the minutes of daylight methodically and slowly begin to increase again, since we have a new moon in the middle of the month. But perhaps as a foreshadowing of the light to come, or a hearkening back to stories of the Christmas Star, this year’s Geminid meteor shower coincides with those darkest skies and also promises to be one of the best in many years, assuming clear skies. I am hoping to spend some time under a clearing night sky during the peak. There is something about “shooting stars” and “new moon wishes” and the hopes and dreams and longings of a new year coming. Many faith traditions celebrate this month, and for me, as a Christian, December holds the reminder of the greatest gift of all, as the Light of the World enters humanity, divinely disguised as a baby boy.
To remind myself of all that is still good and right and peaceful and joyful in our world, and in my own daily life, I – as you know – often go outside. In between the travels I shared with you from earlier in the fall, I have walked our own beautiful beaches, usually at dawn, or spent mornings or sometimes late afternoons over at Alligator River refuge. We had one of the lovliest autumns I can remember there. The unkempt, wild filter strips in between the farm fields, or the edges of the woods, have been awash in color for weeks. Even this past week, I still saw isolated bushes that held tightly to the last brilliant leaf. Soon even they will succumb to the waning of the light and the coming of the frost and the land, with a deep sigh, will rest.
Black bears that have been feasting on corn have lately been, well, tipsy. By this time of year, the corn that remains after harvest, isolated ears or kernels, has fermented. One evening recently I saw three bears that were definitely over-full on over-ripe corn. One laid in a field, scarcely moving except to throw up a foot or a front paw; the other two sat, swaying, with what we would call a silly grin had they been humans and not bears, and seemingly waving at the passers-by, clearly in their own little worlds. A mother bear and her two still small cubs made an afternoon’s work of stripping a tree on Sawyer Lake Road of its remaining berries, and just this week, I saw a bear grazing on what grass remained at the fields’ edge, getting as much food intake as possible before entering the torpor state they will stay in for most of the winter, though we may occasionally see a wandering bear on an unseasonably warm winter day.
Swan have arrived in the region, and the snow geese will not be too far behind. The harriers are back hunting in the fields after being absent most all summer. Otters are playing and feasting in the canals. And I still occasionally spot red wolves trotting through a field.
Seaside, the sunrise a few mornings ago was over the top. Dolphin seemed to agree and I was able to see and photograph one in the act of jumping a wave—with a fish in its mouth! That was a first!! The wave spray produced by its jump formed a heart. As you will see, that was not the only heart I received that morning.
What does this month mean to you? How do you approach “the holidays?” What are your hopes and dreams for a new year coming? What might nature show you, if you took a few minutes every day, and really noticed the pattern of the clouds, or the changing birdsong throughout the seasons, or even the actions of neighborhood creatures like squirrels or deer, preparing themselves in their own ways, as the bears are doing, for another winter season. How can you find rest, and how can you find joy? These are the kinds of questions I am asking myself as 2023 comes to a close. So I hope you don’t mind if I am asking you, too. Meanwhile, I hope these gifts, in the guise of glimpses from home bring you “tidings of comfort and joy.”
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click for larger image | This buck was waiting for me at dusk on Thanksgiving, after dinner with dear friends. Pete always found deer when we traveled...so this was like a heaven hug. |
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click for larger image | Dove, one of the fillies born last spring, is getting big -- but not too big to still nuzzle her mom. |
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click for larger image | Eventually, this morning offered a "sun pillar sunrise" -- not the splayed out rays, but a bright pillar straight up. And the pink cloud above formed a heart! |
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click for larger image | After completing errands late one afternoon this week, I walked out on Jennette's Pier and found two male Eider ducks. |
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click for larger image | Usually when I see otters in the canal, the brown water is not very picturesque. But this morning the canal reflected the blue sky above! Beautiful! |
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posted by eturek at 12:36 AM |
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