It is cold cold stinging face cold out, but sometimes as the winter winds along, you get to put your compost out in the morning for the crow families, and then at night for the small coyote, who come by on frigid winter nights, perhaps with an older coyote, and as the winter wears on, most often alone, to see if there is a bit of oatmeal or beans to get by on, while learning the art of hunting for survival.
So just before bed, I bundle up , dreading the cold, and step out into the bright light of night, compost bucket in hand.
The moon is now slowly growing large and powerful,casting their light through tall branches, the shadows sweeping upon the ground, in the swift winds.
I strew the compost bits, listening to the roar of wind rushing through the forest, and find myself filled with peace and happiness and the delicious serenity of the night and the forest and moonlight.
So off I wander ,through the newly fallen snow, out into the broad hills of the conservation field.
Watching the glimmering lights from towns far across the river.
Turning back to see my small home, it's warm lights stark against the mountain range. Far overhead, the moon is shining amongst so many far flung stars and galaxies and universes.
I close my eyes, and feel the wind and the cold stinging my face, and all of the all, seeping far into me, in the dark winter night.
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