They say all these things about winter.
That it’s about
Stillness.
Cold.
The moment before.
Before everything changes, finally
Blossoms
But why do I keep feeling like
There’s something else buried beneath all the wet
Something older
Not just seasonal
But beyond time
That if I can just manage to see past
All the dazzling white
I’ll find something precious
Something long misplaced
But maybe
That’s just my human desire to dig
A dog lost on an old scent
Hungry for the bone
My animal brain whimpering in so many words:
More.
Surely there must be more.
Welcome to The ALIVE hour.
Illustration: Shannon Colon
Story: Steve Nelson. Music: Chloe Riley
Things found in real life
You, sending me mail back. A more beautiful wreath there ne’er was:
These Christmas postcards, written at the turn of the 20th century, to August Claussen and his family:
Dear Sister + Brother! —
Wishing you a Merry Xmas + A Happy New Year. Did not keep my promise about writing & have the La Grippe and have been home ever since Friday morn and do not feel much better now. Good-Bye
Amanda
A happy Xmas greeting to all
Dear Gus.
You missed it Sun. I was out hunting and got 7 rabbits in 2 hours with 9 shells how’s that for high. Come whenever you can and give Lizzie and Arthur Best Love from me.
Grover
Things found on the internet
This post (also from Steve Nelson) on facing the darkness:
My fear was mostly, if not entirely, in my own mind, of my own creation. The woods, night or day, if paid the proper respect, was benign. And come evening, particularly, when the shadows closed and the world shrank, it was actually comforting, intimate. I became at home in the dark.
And it was these—the transitions, the secret places between the steps—that seemed to give the dancing its meaning.
There’s a widespread need to reconnect to all the things that make life worth living, and what better moment than now? What better way than with a feast?
Yet the song ends not with the word “forever” but with a repetition of the word “Sunday.” By this point in the show, the audience understands that an ordinary Sunday can become a forever, through inspiration, other people, and work.
Mary Oliver’s “The Rabbit,” posted by my friend Katie:
The ALIVE hour