Earlier this week, the end of January, it was nearly 60 degrees and the yard was wet.  I went outside and started digging in the dirt.  I raked some leaves.  I pulled some weeds.  I moved a few bulbs as they were thawed momentarily from their winter dens.  It felt wonderful to do all of this, bending, reaching, cleansing perspiration.  It was a workout that provided an endorphin balm for a wintery spirit.  To have touched the earth and labored this bit,  I felt renewed in a way that the isolated treadmill cannot offer.

The next morning, amid snow squalls and frigid temperature returned, I reached for a knitting project. It was nearly finished, and I prepared it to be a gift.  From knitting needles I moved to using a mending needle and rejoined shreds of a tired lining in my winter coat.  Some loose ends on my sweater got TLC as well.  My fingers were partners in a morning of restoration, as a group of quilting women around me plied their yarns.  Our conversation wove us into refreshment as well.

In the afternoon, it was tea and berry crumbles, with two sisters, gathered in our shared friendship and love for pondering theology. 

The deep breath in of loamy life.
The sight of breath out into crisp cold.
The peaceful breathing in and out in comfortable presence.