Snow on snow, on snow

[sun_set_bravely]

In the bleak midwinter

begins the hymn by Christina Rossetti,

frosty wind made moan,
Earth stood hard as iron,
Water like a stone

In recent years, this winter hymn has become one of my favorites. I don't remember singing it in the Methodist churches I grew up in; when I was a kid, I was much fonder of "Oh Holy Night." The first time "In the Bleak Midwinter" stopped me in my tracks was winter 2004, when I first really listened to the version sung by Shawn Colvin. It's on her "Holiday Songs and Lullabies" album from 1998, a beautifully-titled compilation. I never realized how similar those two types of song are. My eyes sink shut and I can hear the hush of fresh snowfall when she sings:

Snow had fallen,
Snow on snow,
Snow on snow,
In the bleak midwinter,
Long ago.

My favorite part of the Christmas season is feeling like a child, filled with awe. The Advent and Christmas of my childhood was full of ritual, magic, and wonder -- something I try every year to recapture, to varying degrees of success. My family's Christmas was filled with talismans -- the Advent calendar, with tiny doors to open and part of the Christmas story to read every day, the John Denver & The Muppets Christmas album, my mom's hand-made stockings, the dough-cookie and hand-colored ornaments my sister and I made as kids, the paper discs around the thin candles we held at the 11 p.m. church services.

I remember sitting with my glasses off in our darkened living room as an eight-year-old, watching the colorful lights distort as I squinted and then opened my eyes wide. I felt transported into magic, elevated, taken out of my regular world into one where lights get halos.

A winter solstice celebration appeals to me these days, centered more on the Divine Feminine of our Earth. owlmother's description of her vigil touched me deeply this year, and as freak1c and I start to form our own family traditions, I find myself returning again and again to her observation. I do love celebrating a birth as well, something that is always miraculous in this world. Whatever we land on, I love considering it, talking about it. That feels as much like an observation as anything.

Shawn Colvin's quiet version of the Rossetti song brings me close to my childhood Christmas feeling. Though I no longer live in a city where the midwinter gets bleak, weather-wise, I still feel the inward draw of winter, the visceral sensation of the sun's dance -- stretching the farthest away, giving us one long, dark night, then slowly moving back towards us, gratefully, gracefully. I feel my smallness when I listen to this song, and I also feel the expansive capacity of the human heart. If, as the Christians say, we were created in God's image, like Jesus, then we are the candles in the darkness, going out into the night. We are the halos; we are the hope. I believe that.

What can I give him,
Poor as I am?
If I were a shepherd
I would bring a lamb,
If I were a wise man
I would do my part,
Yet what I can I give Him —
Give my heart.

Merry Christmas to those who celebrate the holiday. To those who don't, peace and joy to every one of you and your families.

Comments

[daisydumont.livejournal.com]

that's one of my favorite christmas songs, though like you i didn't hear it in childhood. (i was methodist too, as i've probably told you.) it's so graceful and simple but deep.

>then we are the candles in the darkness, going out into the night. We are the halos; we are the hope. I believe that.

so do i, really. peace and joy to you too!