The light in the valley begins to fade
into a frozen palette of grays and blues.
He hauled a charge of tinder by hand in a little black tote sled
to the fire pit at the far side of the farm
so we could sit in the warmth of crackling poplar
and the company of best friends.

Not speaking a word
enjoying each others presence in silence
the light dies around us.

To compensate, we make our own light.
But only once it becomes difficult enough
to see your own paw on the ground below you.
Flickering shadows cast off into the evening
marrying with the Aspen and Birches
and the darkness beyond them.
A gentle breeze drops clumps of newly fallen snow
that had been clinging so half-assedly
it seemed as if they had intended
to fall from the limb in the first place.
They pause ever so briefly to provide a refreshing kiss
on an already chilled and redened cheek
during their journey to the golden blanket
of leaves that have accummuted below our feet.
A gentle whisper
*psssssst*
from those that come too close
to the stone and coal of the fire’s pit.

Though consumed by an ether of exemption
distractions still surround me.
Branches knock against each other
under the guise of ghostly intruders
They require an intermittent *woof*
and occasional *bark* to be kept at bay

A frozen pile of moose droppings
offered up like hors d’oeuvres
in a platter of last night’s bedding
that should be consumed
before the other guests arrive.

The footprints of a neighbor
with their own four-legged companion
still fresh from a morning stroll that must be inventoried.
A twig fell from the canopy
and sitting atop the hoar frost
begging to be chewed and shredded
so as to be distributed equally
and uniformly as possible
across the forest floor.

The howl of another canine friend
echoing from the adjacent hillside
inquiring about the weather over here
[and over there]
almost simultaneously.

Still there is no where and no reason to go.
There is no urgency for any chore to be done.
The temperature and interment of all things summer
and its impositions make them too complicated to be done.

Winter has a way of reminding me
to slow down and enjoy the beauty of a lessened pace