THE HEART OF WINTER
“Within the grip of winter, it is almost impossible to imagine the spring.
The grey perished landscape is shorn of colour.
Only bleakness meets the eye; everything seems severe and edged.
Winter is the oldest season; it has some quality of the absolute.
Yet beneath the surface of winter, the miracle of spring is already in preparation; the cold is relenting; seeds are wakening up. Colours are beginning to imagine how they will return.
Then, imperceptibly, somewhere one bud opens and the symphony of renewal is no longer reversible.
From the black heart of winter a miraculous, breathing plenitude of colour emerges.”
John O’Donohue – Benedictus