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.