12.11.13 The early , the cold, the not yet take-it-seriously-deep-winter

The early , the cold, the not yet take-it-seriously-deep-winter, the dog walk, the 8 month old with a 

cone on the head and no free off leash run for a week, the pulling of the chain, the skidding of my 

boots, the understandable launching of the small moose into the air, onto me, in desperation, the 

learning to shovel the snow with his cone and lean back to eat the snow, the tracking the local coyote 

group this year, snuffling each and every individual's track I show him, knowing tonight they will in 

turn be snuffling and tracking -us, my continual wonder at the spring buds being quietly grown on 

trees as winter sets in, the sun breaking through the naked branches, casting its brazen light through 

the forest, the whirring shushhhjing sound of the small wind moving through the stand of Pines, the 

way so many of us as children felt so alone and baffled and bereft until we learned that the trees were 

applauding us and loving each and every one of us, walking beneath their gaze, and finally , simply the 
grace of this and every gift of a moment.