Traditions

There’s no snow.

There are no colorful flowers.

There’s no shimmering reflection of the sun on the lake.

And yet, I couldn’t imagine anything more beautiful than being in Dyrehaven in light rain and gray weather at this turning of the year. Almost unnoticed, it’s become a bit of a tradition – at least we’ve done it a few years in a row now, so I suppose it’s fair to call it a tradition? A new tradition?

My five-year-old daughter thinks it’s downright ugly – everything is wet and withered. But when we find a den and start building onto it, she forgets all her objections. Walking and talking about types of trees, leaf shapes, and childhood memories while eating lunch on a damp tree stump might sound banal. But to me, it’s a beautiful reminder of presence and the little things, which are also the big things – and which I’m so grateful for.

The almost marsh-like landscape reminds me that a new year almost wipes the slate clean. That anything can happen. Both the unexpectedly challenging and the unexpectedly hopeful.

Here’s a slow greeting from the unplanned days after Christmas, moving at their very own pace.