On the first day of Christmas

Today we went for a walk.  There isn't any snow, but the wind was sharp and it was definitely winter.

We saw squirrels and wild swans and wild Swan boys acting squirrely. 

After a nice walk along the well-kept walking path, we wound up in our favourite spot: a little patch of woods behind our house. A stream runs through it, and in the summer it's so overgrown with leaves and ferns and vines that we have complete privacy. Now, though, it's bare and the mostly-frozen water just slides slowly over thin moss and dead leaves. We were hunting for owl pellets (which we didn't find) and I loved the way the earth dipped and sprang under my feet. 

When I was a kid, there was a little patch of woods behind our house. It ran between my friends' backyard and ours, diagonally. The ground was uneven and soft with pine needles, roots jutting out to make fantastic jumping spots, and the trees oozed golden blobs of sap.  We had no end of fun in the woods and today, standing among the trees with the laughter of children ringing in my ears and the earth soft under my boots, I felt ten years old again.

The kids climbed and wrestled and played and once, when the fallen tree across the stream got slippery, they quickly asked for a calming song to help them cross without falling.

And just before we went in, they found a heron, carved.

It felt joyful, magical. 

On the first day of Christmas my true love sent to me

A heron carving in an old tree.

A friend told me once that in Ojibway culture, seeing a heron is a symbol you're on the right path. I don't know as much about Ojibway tradition as I want to know, but that has nestled in my heart and I always feel God smiling on me when he sends me a heron.

It was a good day. Fresh air, health and strength to enjoy it, and a heart winging upward. 

God bless you with unexpected gifts in ordinary places, friends.

Xo.