- annaolivia
- Jan 4, 2023
- 1 min read
The old year dragged into the next as slow and unseen as the dusk into night. There was no revelry this year for me, so I took the time slowly and gently, spending the greater part of the evening reading, crocheting and sipping red wine. But before darkness fell, I wandered around outside to capture the foggy, wispy magic of the after-rain weather, and snapped some photos.
Each raindrop was so perfectly and meticulously crafted, clinging to the barren branches like a thousand tiny jewels. I could picture Belle wandering through this quiet world toward the Beast's castle in a time-lapse of emerald moss and fox-colored leaves still clinging to thorny and berry-studded trees. It also felt a bit like Taylor Swift's Folklore album - a lonely path cutting alongside the river to an ivy-covered cottage or misty storybook hollow.
We don't see much of the sun these days in my corner of the earth. Being outside in nature and her many moods helps me to recenter myself and romanticize the seasons. I found so much life pulsing and breathing even in the muted and soft colors of winter, marveling at fungi and moss living off of fallen tree limbs, the brown bellied birds swooping through the thickets, the river smelling like dampness and earth and wildness.
The stillness forces you to stop and listen to what really matters.