Glimmers

Something in the glow of late afternoon in the stark winter woods whisks me away to warm fires and years of stories and dreams, memories so potent they transport me to other realms, and friends, friends, friends. Deeply treasured, profound friendships give contour and meaning to life. Whenever I wander through the woods at this time of year, I can’t help but lift all the wispy shadows of heartache and sorrow accumulated all winter, along with the streaky rays of raucous laughter and outrageous joy, from the recesses of my heart. They course through me like the sap rising in the arbor elders who surround me, and “call out,” as the poetess Mary Oliver says, “Stay awhile.” I immediately feel that aching desire for spring and for my friends. I find myself upon waking, like Tony from West Side Story, “reaching out.” “Something’s coming, something good! If I can wait …” I know just what that feels like. It’s like the morning ritual of an infant reaching out to touch Mama’s glowing face. It’s the feeling of being delighted in the moment, completely held, thoroughly loved and washed clean from all the travails, frights and sadnesses of a long, lonely slumber. Morning has broken open into the daylight of Love. The embrace of the woods—and of lifelong friendship—offer comfort and joy. Healing and strength. They hold glimmers of hope and the promise of spring like no other.

While we are all journeying through the dark forest, the Myrkviðr (< Germanic mythology, Old Norse, “dark wood,” “murky forest”) of the past year, let us peer intently through the evening mist for the Light beyond these woods. We will do best if we reach out to our friends who will always remind us where to look for that Light, and see what makes it shine.

There’s A Light Beyond These Woods
by Nanci Griffith (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8YZ3yvXpMOw)

There’s a light beyond these woods, Mary Margaret.
Do you think that we will go there,
And see what makes it shine, Mary Margaret?
It’s almost morning, and we’ve talked all night,
You know we’ve made big plans for ten-year-olds,
You and I.

Have you met my new boyfriend, Margaret?
His name is John, and he rides my bus to school,
And he holds my hand.
He’s fourteen, he’s my older man.
But we’ll still be the best of friends,
The three of us, Margaret, John, and I.

Let’s go to New York City, Margaret!
We’ll hide out in the subways
And drink the poets’ wine, oh,
But I had John, so you went and I stayed behind.
But you were home in time for the senior prom,
When we lost John.

The fantasies we planned, I’m living out now.
All the dreams we sang when we knew how,
Well, they haven’t changed.

There’s never been two friends like you and me,
Mary Margaret.

It’s nice to see your family growing, Margaret.
Your daughter and your husband there,
They really treat you right …
But we’ve talked all night
And what about that light,

That glowed beyond our woods when we were ten?

You were the rambler then.

The fantasies we planned, well, Maggie,
I’m living them now.
All the dreams we sang, oh, we damn sure knew
How, but I haven’t changed.
There’ll never be two friends like you and me,
Maggie, can’t you see?

—Laura Weber, Prairiewoods associate director and retreats coordinator