Come Winter

As I drove into town this afternoon, flakes started to fall. I usually wear flip flops and no coat until I just absolutely can't deny anymore that the seasons change here in the hills. This year has been an easier transition. Maybe because the wood has been stacked for almost three months, there is a winter's worth of hay in the barn, we aren't building a house outside in ice and freezing temperatures, and we aren't living under the stress of a construction loan and deep poverty. I can feed my girl. My self. My animals.

My car might be buried under an inch or two of snow when I come back out tonight after my massage shift. I don't have the ice scraper in there yet and my shoulders aren't exactly ready for the aches that long drives in the snow cause, but the moon is almost full and when there is snow on the ground it serves as a mirror to the skies. I'm so much more likely in the winter to come home after a long night at work and pull on my wool cape and walk up the hill to talk to the moon. There's a quiet, a solitude, a serenity when things quiet with winter. There is the understanding that it is temporary. A time to pull within and listen to the bulbs in the soil resting and the deep breath of hibernation. For the softest sounds. To enjoy the waiting and trust that the soils eventually thaw.