Recently, I asked my dad if he would make me a writing desk. I have been blessed throughout my life with many, many things made with his woodworking talents and this request was made from far more than just my practical need for a place to type. The thought of sitting in a space crafted by his hands, using the talents he handed down to me to compose thoughts on figurative paper delights my soul in ways I cannot easily articulate.

In preparation for such, my beloved husband assembled a make-shift surface, mainly to help us determine ideal dimensions to pass along to Dad as he begins planning and building. I chose a spot in our bedroom at a window that looks out into our front yard.

On winter mornings such as this, the sun shines brightly through the bare, snow-laden trees, almost too brightly. Just now, I watched Delilah, in the pasture, amble up to the water trough for a drink and many birds have chosen to land in the shrubbery out front. If I crane my neck just a bit, I can even spy my flock of girls out in the coop, scratching and pecking away. In the summer, this will all be shady, and the songs of all the birds will be heard through the screens. The feeders and birdbaths will be busy and there will be critters of all varieties scampering across the wooded lawn. If I can keep myself from daydreaming, it’s the perfect spot for composing.

During my morning workout today, I chose to listen to a favorite podcast instead of my usual playlist. “A Way With Words” not only keeps my mind off my labored breathing, but discusses a subject of great interest to me – words. This morning, one of the callers brought up a concept that lead to the sharing of a German word, “waldeinsamkeit” which means a woodland solitude. It speaks viscerally to the notion of being alone in the woods, but never really being lonely because you are surrounded by nature. It was a word that spoke directly to my soul.

This spot, this place, this writing, this home, these moments shared between just me and a keyboard are some of my most content moments. Solitude, but not loneliness, in nature. Looking out as I write this, I cannot see a single living thing now, but the tracks across the snow tell me many have been here. I am alone, and yet, I am never really alone

I was blessed with two snow days in a row this week. They edged up against the weekend, making them even more of a treasure. January is a tough month for all, but snow days, especially caused by deep, steady snow like the lake-effect snow we received, make for a beautiful landscape and not a reason in the world to go out in it. In a moment I will take warm oatmeal to the chickies, and an apple or two to the cows. The dog will frolic in the snow – the only one in the house who is ever happy to see it fall – and the cat will continue to nap on the down comforter, basking in the gently moving ray of light streaming in through the panes. I will treasure the solitude. I will treasure the nature around me and I will allow the feeling of contentment to reverberate in my soul – waldeinsamkeit. A blessed thing indeed.