SIGNS OF THE TIMES

The leaves are off the trees behind the house, opening up our field of view to the hills beyond the red barn.  This morning, a tiny black ball of fur frolicked on the hillside, a newborn calf testing out his gangly legs.  Little John, fuzzy as a giant cuckleburr, stood under a bare oak tree at the far end of the pasture and eyed me across the valley as I fed the chickens.  Nope, not Martha, he quickly assessed.  Not worth a mad gallop for a bit of sweet feed.

It's so easy to see the birds among the tree trunks and branches now.  The sun-flash of a goldfinch.  The stark red and white and black of a woodpecker, like a Japanese ink drawing on gray bark.  A flurry of blue.  A burst of red.  The bright white bellies of the juncos.

Ben built the first fire of the season yesterday, to chase away the gray dregs of a rainy day.  Toasted marshmallows for dessert, and card games in front of the fire.  Today, venison chili for lunch - mmmmm, it just feels good to cradle the warm bowl in cold fingers and inhale the spicy steam.

Here we go, over the brink into three months in the freezer.

Hello, Winter!