12.23.16 Here in this place

Here in this place is where we were last Spring, cold and rain soaked.

Here, down by the farmers fields, we slugged along on sweltering Summer days, sweat dripping, flip-flops, dog flying by with his smile.

Here, along this wide-open place, nestled up to the winding Connecticut River, is where we spent early-morning's last Fall, jogging along the dust caked dirt road, while the Goshawk taught their fledgling to fly, and the foxes watched their kits roll about and play. 

And so here we are again, like you in your places, way over there, wherever you tend to go, again and again, breathing in your air and watching the changes with big seasons or small, as your life and days progress.

Myself, it's 38°, the ice standing firm but the snow growing soft, enough to sink down comfortably into, that beautiful winter crunch. Only the crows about today, although there are plenty of tracks of the wild inhabitants here. Out along a road already too rutted for too many vehicles to try.

The sun is bright overhead, and warm, with a slight cold breeze, as a three-year-old Shepherd and I happily walk along, now and then turning 360 to gaze at the place in its winter finery.