A cold weekend is close ahead, and we’ve kept our wood stove stoked.
The calendar says sixty days until spring
but the frigid air and clear sky say longer.
We are stocked with roots: potatoes, parsnips, beets, turnips, carrots
And yesterday we received a small taste of summer in a jar of pesto.
On the mountain the trees are thick with frost
Noses are red from wind, and toes are like ice cubes in boots
Still we go out
Into the winter
Still we go out into the cold
So we may remember the serious beauty of stillness
And be thankful for the glowing comfort of warmth.