Winter

It fills the end of the year and the beginning of the next…

Closure to the dying days of autumn, with cold winds, blowing leaves, grasses flowing like waves – faded from bright summer green. Days shorten, dark morning, dark evening. Bleak. Then like a sigh the snow arrives, settling like a down coverlet on the ground. Wind carves the surface; an errant leaf skitters across the white expanse. Barren.

Coyotes yip and howl in the early morning hours. The dawn wakes to stillness but deer tracks trace a winding route through the garden and yard. The hooves dragged through the deep snow – patterns almost like the passage of a cross-country skier. Closer to the house the distinctive marks of the bunnies snacking on the last remnants of leaves and seeds. A riot of tracks from the resident Labrador retriever cavorting in the drifts.

Light snow fills the air. The sky is grey white, the trees stark against it. All the fescue is buried. Snow and ice cover the sunroom roof, a drift hangs off the eaves.

Christmas lights sparkle, bringing warmth and cheer. Ploughs grind up the roads, creating great piles.

The brave venture out with skis, snowshoes or skates.

Childhood memories of a canal turned into a magnificent skating rink, the swish of blades muted by the snowy banks. Hills covered with children on toboggans, scarves wrapped tightly, mittens and toques and parkas. Red cheeked and sniffling. And laughter.

A fire in the hearth, a glass of wine, a stew simmering on the stove.

Waiting, waiting for spring.