My Winter Is Past

My beloved speaks and says to me:

‘Arise my love, my fair one,

and come away;

for now the winter is past,

the rain is over and gone.

The flowers appear on the earth;

the time of singing has come,

And the voice of the turtle-dove

is heard in our land.

The fig tree puts forth its figs,

and the vines are in blossom;

they give forth fragrance.

Arise, my love, my fair one,

and come away.

O, my dove, in the clefts of the rock,

in the covert of the cliff,

let me see your face,

let me hear your voice;

for your voice is sweet,

and your face is lovely.

My beloved is mine and I am his.

Song of Solomon 2: 10-14

Winterpast. My house is truly living up to her name, blessed with this name at VST’s eulogy. She is strong and warm, sheltering me through rough seasons, starting last spring. She has given me shelter through the hottest of summer days, and protected me from high desert winds that have howled through many nights. Tears have fallen within her walls, but laughter blooms now, full and rich. Happiness grows by leaps and bounds. Acceptance of life on life’s terms has made a slow and steady healing possible.

This will be the first spring in which I can watch the rustlings of new life in the little bird houses. Irises will stretch their leaves towards the heavens as I watch intently. With lawn dressed in luscious green, I’m the caretaker of wonder for now. The slave to the imminent work that’ll appear as I care for my gardens. In this spring, I, too, can bloom in laughter and optimism. This is the first year of my womanhood, while standing firmly on my own two feet. This is the first year of my new story.

After April 8th, I’ll no longer identify as a widow. Of course, a widow I’ll always be. But, after the first year, I choose to identify as a woman. Just that. Normal. Old. Senior Citizen. Crone. Beautiful. Karen-ish-ly spoiled. High Maintenance. Woman. For to continue to identify as a widow will keep me from the rest of my life here on earth. A life that, I promise you, will explode like the biggest fire works display you’ve ever seen. In my attempt to reach the heavens from my earthly platform, I’m living my best life here on earth.

Winterpast has seen it all. Secrets will be kept in her soul, as she is a true home. An intimate cocoon in which I’m my true self. Her gardens are my touchstone to creativity and life. She is an outward expression of everything good that is inside me. She is my Winter Past. My Moving Forward. My Safe Place. Love your home, because, after all, Home IS Love.