We woke this morning to a cover of fresh-fallen snow. It won’t last long, I’m afraid, but it makes the heart leap with pleasure. At dawn, William the mule came prancing and snorting to breakfast. His whinny is something between a horse laugh and donkey bray, not quite either one, but something all his own.
As the light came up and I made my way with hay and water buckets, the sheep did a little turn-about dance in the snow, too. It makes us all slightly giddy. Something different has come to the barnyard, and we all celebrate just a little. I do it with my eyes:
In the afternoon I took a walk up Highland Butte, our old volcano. It’s wet along the path, and I didn’t make it as far as I had hoped because the track down the far side is steep. After two quick sit-downs I decided it was the better part of prudence to come on home. It was getting on to four o’clock, and the light fails early at the end of the year. But the woods were beautiful, the walk left me pleasantly breathless, and the snow was just enough to sugar everything.
I came on this patch of Asarum caudatum, wild ginger, on my way up:
Note to self: Go back in the spring and look for the blooms.