It’s nice that my fingers smell like seven sweet little goats…ok 6- Nova smells nothing like sweet. It’s nce that it is finally light at seven-dim and cold- but still promising! It’s nice to be greeted by an armful of dopey barn cats, each feeling a singular ownership to their farm. It’s nice to be watched by two large Jersey cows with bulbous faces, and thin, wide-set legs, snorting out cold morning air in anticipation of pellets as I walk towards them.

How do those legs hold up those barrels? It’s nice to listen as the chickens make the morning announcements about this land. It’s also nice to keep my fingers warmly wrapped around mug of tea as I walk. I hear the ducks quacking distantly and smile as i picture them waddling awkwardly across the mucky terrain.

Now I’m cozied up in the corner of our bedroom looking out the french door to a very white yard. It’s almost awkward-this snow- like its falling is not a regular enough occurrence for us all to get used to each other, but it is pretty.

I am, as usual, surrounded by a pile of books and journal, and a full list of thoughts, all waiting for their turn to go through processing. Most likely, though, I will write, stare out the window, and regret that I accomplished less than half of the goals I sat down with… Oh well. I am learning to let go this winter. Again. Only this time, instead of releasing dreams and desire into the waning sunlight, shorter days, and longer nights {and the G-d who is their Caretaker}, I am learning to let go of expectations, agendas, (standards?) I set too high for myself- even knowing full well that they are too high even when I am setting them. I am slowing the day- not trying to pack them more fully than their short spans allow.

I am trying to live more in rhythm with this land, with my body, with my husband. I am still learning what that even means. I am looking out my bedroom door at the garden, observing the sleepers in their beds, the empty trellis, bare except for a few worn out vines. I am watching the snow blanket the herb beds; sleeping pale leaves, waiting in huddles for the sun and heat to release their warm fragrance.

It is good to wait until a time is full. Until we can spill over naturally-without force pulling at our lack, our tiredness, our striving. Imagine if the roots beneath the tee-peed trellis had forced their heads through the crunchy soil, and up the dead sticks before their appointed time? They would have met their end last night when the snow fell. The earth knows times and seasons. I want my feet to push into the ground of these Truths. I want to be in touch the same way.

It’s nice that Joel has the day off from school. It’s nice to hear the floor creak lightly in the other room and hear the Civil Wars play quietly as he’s doing whatever it is he’s doing. It’s nice to have companionship on a day like this, laughing and conversing about that awkward white stuff try to cover a coastal yard-so different from a mountain March. But it’s a beauty all its own- these trees, these birds that are so prevalent and bold.

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