Here in this place

The years roll on, each with its rhythms and seasons. Life gets busy. The siding on this house slowly changes from fresh light brown to weathered silver and gray. Dust and cobwebs form on the tops of the rafters, behind furniture, and in cracks and corners seldom explored by any except tiny intruders. We have now lived in this house 6 years and two months, and in a few more months I will have lived here longer than anywhere in my life. So I discover generations of dust bunnies in the back of closets, and forget to notice stains on the floor under the table, as they become part of the landscape. The seasons, too, are part of the landscape. I now know exactly where the sun rises in December as I lie in bed, sipping my tea. By the Winter Solstice, it will shine fully on my face if I’m still lying there at 7:00 AM. My own personal Stonehenge, made from the trunks of trees in the woods outside my bedroom. And the rituals continue. Today is the first day of December. This morning before my tea, before lighting the fire, I started the same cd I play every December first: George Winston’s December. The soft piano melody rises from the living room, and I am “in” December mode. Let the gentle waiting of Advent begin. The nights grow longer. Since the start of Daylight Saving Time a month ago we have had candles at the dinner table. The woodstove has been cranking since early October. This place is infused with all that ritual and custom are about: a sense of rightness, a sense of belonging. My dear singing friends and I, the Solstice Sisters, are almost ready for our concert, to be held on the weekend before Christmas. We are bringing back one of our favorite songs: “Here in This Place”, by Peter Fischman. Here in this place I have all I ever wanted. Here in this place I have everything I need. I have love, I have beauty, I have grace, Here in this place.