Thoughts at Three Weeks Before 50

Yes, it’s winter. I might as well admit it. Aside from an occasional Indian Summer or January thaw, I’m mostly winter, now. But there’s beauty in that. Not just the deep, deep beauty of wisdom, of calm knowingness, of peaceful certainty, of confidence, of strength, of abundance and of pure female power. Of knowing who I am and what I’m doing, what I want and how to get it. Of not just belief in, but absolute certainty of my own talent, my own value. Not just the beauty of all those things, but also real, physical beauty too. For here there’s every bit of beauty from the seasons gone before, the innocent exuberant fearless adventurous maiden of spring, the lush passionate wild woman of summer, the gentle fullness, nurturing abundance, generous provider of the autumnal mother, all of it combined and coated now in the crystalline glaze of this. Of winter. Of the Old One, of the Crone. And it is more beautiful than anything gone before, like the leafless winter trees, their limbs gleaming beneath a sleet-storm’s thick layer of liquid diamonds, sparkling in the brilliant winter sun. So rare, and yes, fleeting. But intensely, breathtakingly beautiful. And that’s how I choose to see me at 50, and going forward. Sparkling like those crystalline fairyland trees against the bluest blue sky in the noonday winter-white sun.