This morning I parked myself on the dock as the sun came up. It was frosty, and there was mist and fog rolling across the water that’s warmed up earlier than usual with the early thaw. It was cold, but it was the sort of cold that makes you remember how much we need contrast and how important it is to show up for yourself and do the things that make you feel like you want to feel. I didn’t *want* to feel cold, but I did want to feel like I was part of something bigger than myself. Sometimes you have to accept a little of the unwanted to tap into what you truly desire.
Waiting for Sunrise
How do you capture fog
racing across newly open water
on a morning chill laces the air
and bird song fills the stillness?
You can’t, not really—
because wild beauty isn’t containable
by photograph or word or even memory.
But it can be existed within,
every moment of your attention
becoming part of who you are,
claiming you as part of the wild.
Cloak of light, scarves of sound
Dress for the job you want, they say.
So you sit still enough, long enough
to allow dawn’s late winter fog
to seep deep into your pores, rolling
across the water to adorn you like a second skin.
You wait to move
until the sun crests the eastern tree line,
great orange orb of energy rising swiftly
to become a cloak of light.
Sandhill cranes and geese offer you scarves of sound
voices calling a greeting as wings beat overhead,
as the last of the lake ice melts
gifting you just enough acquiescence
to be here now, wearing the wild.
In March: Puffy coat, blanket, fleece lined yoga pants, outdoor footwear, notebook, pen.
Add ons that are condition-dependent: canoe paddle or Nordic ski poles.
What does dressing for the job you want look like these days?
It’s almost book release month! If you haven’t already, preorder your copy of Just Wild Enough now.
Upcoming events:
I’ll be at The Nook, a bookshop in Brookings, South Dakota, on March 30 doing a signing from 10-noon! If you’re in town, I hope to see you then.
"I didn’t *want* to feel cold, but I did want to feel like I was part of something bigger than myself."
Always and forever, Heidi.