We are in that in-between time where it's too chilly to not have a fire, but when I do, I have to crack the windows. After three days of warm sunny weather low heavy clouds have blown in on the North West wind. The trees are talking to each other, rubbing elbows and murmuring softly as they do when the wind rolls through. My little puddle of winter sun is not so warm today, it's no match for what the the wind brought in. The birds are busy, a sure sign more weather is to come.
I'm tired before I've begun. Sore from digging garden beds yesterday, foggy from a restless night of dreams and lonely. This time of year is a lonely time for me. I long to share the work and the wonder, to sit and plan over morning coffee. To do our work and come together again over dinner and the too warm fire.
This morning as I walked out to feed the chickens I stopped, listening to the turkeys calling to each other in the trees down the hill. Unseen and present.
Yesterday sitting on the porch in my tiny pool of weak winter sun I looked up to see a small herd of deer grazing on the edge of the garden. Peace and a hint of joy over the existence of that sort of thing were my first instincts. Hard the heels of that was, "I'm going to have to plant the peas somewhere else this year." Awkward grace, so beautiful in the deer, in my friend's giant Great Dane puppy, is not so lovely in us humans. Once we leave that early adolescent, long legged awkwardness, it's hard to see the grace within or without.
So much joy and beauty, so much grace and awkwardness, unseen and present. Mostly, I'm just tired before I begin and longing for Summer.