Even here, right now, it is very cold. Something about the chill and damp causes everything to retreat – into the ground, into itself. I know many spend this season bundled while planning for the next weather change. But for me, it’s just a time for luxurious laziness. The dogs follow me with their eyes as I pad around the house in the evening, making no effort to engage them. They wait for some sign from me that the hibernation has ended. It hasn’t.
January is not my season.
Last night an owl tried to take one of the hens. We heard them screeching, ran to the door, and saw the enormous bird take flight on our approach. The owl itself – an embodiment of this winter – hung low and gray against the freezing night. Its wings spread with a “woosh!” as it flew overhead, air passing over feathers, and in a second it was gone.