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<div class="editor-content"><p><span>I am slowing down, and taking you with me ;) You are invited this month to restore. </span></p><p><span>Rest ye heart, ye soul, and ye mind. Whenever you can, wherever is possible. </span></p><p><span>A month to reflect and rest in what is. </span></p><p><span>The perfect mindful preparation for 2026. </span></p><p><span>(And our new January practices… which I talk about in this vlog!)<br><br>Thank you for being here. I am wishing you a beautiful month and a happy and warm holiday, whatever you celebrate, however you are feeling this year. We are one. <br><br>Love,</span></p><p><span>Adriene</span></p><p><span><strong><br><br></strong>Poem read: <br>White-Eyes, by Mary Oliver</span></p><p></p><p><span>In winter</span></p><p><span>all the singing is in</span></p><p><span> the tops of the trees</span></p><p><span> where the wind-bird</span></p><p></p><p><span>with its white eyes</span></p><p><span>shoves and pushes</span></p><p><span> among the branches.</span></p><p><span> Like any of us</span><br></p><p><span>he wants to go to sleep,</span></p><p><span>but he's restless—</span></p><p><span> he has an idea,</span></p><p><span> and slowly it unfolds</span></p><p></p><p><span>from under his beating wings</span></p><p><span>as long as he stays awake.</span></p><p><span> But his big, round music, after all,</span></p><p><span> is too breathy to last.</span></p><p><br><span>So, it's over.</span></p><p><span>In the pine-crown</span></p><p><span> he makes his nest,</span></p><p><span> he's done all he can.</span></p><p><br><span>I don't know the name of this bird,</span></p><p><span>I only imagine his glittering beak</span></p><p><span> tucked in a white wing</span></p><p><span> while the clouds—</span></p><p></p><p><span>which he has summoned</span></p><p><span>from the north—</span></p><p><span> which he has taught</span></p><p><span> to be mild, and silent—</span></p><p></p><p><span>thicken, and begin to fall</span></p><p><span>into the world below</span></p><p><span> like stars, or the feathers</span></p><p><span> of some unimaginable bird</span></p><p><br><span>that loves us,</span></p><p><span>that is asleep now, and silent—</span></p><p><span> that has turned itself</span></p><p><span> into snow.</span><br></p></div>