Right now, as I write, winter is blowing in with force. Swooshing, howling, banging and rattling, on what is otherwise a perfectly lovely sunny day, announce its coming with a fanfare and I know that tomorrow we may wake up to frost and if not just bloody cold.
I’m excited about this. I’m excited because even though I hate the cold I love winter as a time of death and rebirth. For gardeners, like the wiccans, the year ends and begins again with winter. It’s a time of reflection and preparation. Without the forgiving green growth summer provides to cover them up all our mistakes and failings are exposed. It’s a far better time to make New Year’s resolutions so I am making mine.
Despite having lived in my house for 6 years (it seems an incredible amount of time, almost a quarter of my life in fact) much of it looks like I got interrupted in the middle of something. I have a short attention span, a tendency to fall by the wayside; I lack focus, drive, follow through, self discipline, self motivation and all the other traits worthy doers have so most of my projects and plans, having begun with extreme enthusiasm, fizzle out. I’ve done a lot here and there but my dreams of living an organic, eco-conscious, semi self sufficient life in a Sandton suburb are unfulfilled.
At the beginning of May, after a difficult and depressing few months wrestling with demons, I “got serious”. In the last five weeks, I’ve cut down some stuff, unearthed my compost piles, planted seeds, taken cuttings, dreamed, schemed and pinned and I hope that by the end of next year I’ll still be blogging and I’ll be on my way to where I want to be. If not, well then I’ll just have to accept that this is where I want to be.