The Gift of Oranges

It is a beautiful and chilly Arizona morning. It is December, and it seems December in Arizona means ripe oranges from the tree outside the kitchen. This Northeastern girl can't quite wrap her mind around that, but there they are, sitting in the basket as big as grapefruits.

How do I align with the energies of winter, as I know it, when winter here means ripe fruit hanging heavy on trees, newly bloomed roses to be picked and bougainvillea hanging lavishly over the cement wall? Can winter still bring its quiet, contemplative gifts and desire for rest and warmth?

I think there are seasonal truths, like archetypal patterns, that live in all places regardless of weather and the growing patterns weather brings. This truth lives in our bones and triggers behaviors that are almost Pavlovian. I put on my warmest sweater and wrap my neck in my softest scarf on this sunny Arizona December morning because it is winter, because it is 56 degrees, not 98 degrees. I sink my teeth into a fresh, juicy orange and it reminds me of the warmest soup on a Long Island winter day in front of the fire.

No matter what grows, or does not, it is still winter. The blooming cactus seems more still than when it blooms in summer. The lizards hide, like bears in their caves. My finger tips are cold and I rub them together as I do on a snowy day to warm them.

Winter in Arizona brings its own winter gifts. Oranges, sunshine, flowers and yes, a winter peace.