Still point in midwinter

At this time of year, I enjoy the human equivalent of hibernating. After Christmas is over, the leftovers stowed and the turkey bones put in a pot to simmer for soup stock, I come to a full stop. Beside the Christmas tree, I sit down and start doing puzzles. At this season a jigsaw is de rigeur. Early on, I  persuade family members to participate, but once the border is complete (we always begin with the border), I'm mostly on my own. The jigsaw is laid out on the coffee table, under a special light my husband has rigged for me.

While I lean over the puzzle, my daughter sits near the fireplace with her laptop and plays an open-ended creative building game. When we speak, our conversation is desultory.

When I get stiff from sitting, I rise and move around, come and see what Yasemin has built since last I looked. She gives me a tour, then offers to play podcasts of the Christmas stories of Stuart McLean. Together, we laugh at the familiar lines and jokes.

There is nothing to hurry for, nowhere to go. The house is full of food, flowers, music and family and I want nothing more. I love to sit here on my annual creative inner pilgrimage of doing absolutely nothing. This is the still point of midwinter, on which the productivity of my days in the coming year will be founded.