Remnants of our first snow cling in the tall pines and the dark crevices of the landscape. The daylight arrives late, weak and gray. It departs early with fleeting bursts of energy was it sets the clouds afire before slipping us into dusk and shadow.
With fewer hours of light and less days in the week to carry out life’s tasks – grocery shopping, dump runs, feed store purchases – I struggle to sandwich in the pleasurable things like riding. The horses are getting fuzzy, NightMare reminds me of a wooly bear caterpillar with her fluff in brown and black. They say you can tell how severe a winter it will be by the width of a wooly bear caterpillar’s black midsection. Or the bounty of acorns. I don’t know if that is true, I can only look for the joy in pursuits I disdain in the summer.
The floors are clean, though I know that won’t last with 24 feet of various sizes stomping through from the outside. Some of us change boots for slippers at the door, others merely shake of the excess moisture and mosey on through the house. Laundry, including fresh flannel sheets, warm from the dryer, is done for the week. A fire blazes and several hours of cooking has commenced. Comfort food for this chill. All the ham butts I’ve been saving went into a black bean soup bubbling on the stove. The oven holds Osso Buco slowly roasting in a sauce of wine and broth. The larder is full for today.