Friday, November 18, 2005


Light pouring across my face awakens me. Moonlight floods the house and clearing … stars close enough to hang along the roof.

Moon still brilliant to the west as the purple night fades into azure in the east. A peaceful dawning, purple and blue warmed by tints of apricot, floods of sun-gold glowing and shimmering through the woods.

Frosty enough to make my nose tingle when I stick it out the door. The chill air penetrates even my down jacket, seeming to creep under every loose edge, chilling enough to induce me to watch the sunrise from the living room windows.

Geese rising high overhead are calling encouragement to one another as they begin their morning journey

The wild gander leads his flock through the cool night,
Ya-honk! he says, and sounds it down to me like an invitation:
The pert may suppose it meaningless, but I listen closer,
I find its purpose and place up there toward the November sky.
--- Walt Whitman, Leaves of Grass, 1855, I Celebrate Myself

Crystal clear blue skies dotted with clouds thrown in by an artistic hand, air filled with sparkles.

My internal clock tells me that this is the day we moved from fall to winter. The thermometer on the deck read 19( at first light. I looked it up --- for 2005-2006 Winter officially begins on December 21, 1:35 PM and doesn’t end until March 20, 1:26 PM but when the leaves are gone from the trees; frost covers the windows and the ground and the birdbath is frozen --- I think it’s “winter.”

The cooler temperatures have sent the birds and small critters in mass to the feeders.

Seeds and crumbs dropped by the birds seem to have tempted a couple of deer. We have seen few deer in the yard this season. Most mornings we can hear shots from across the river where hopeful hunters brave the early chill I am surprised to see the deer feeding peacefully when the hunters are so close.

“A few days ago I walked along the edge of the lake and was treated to the crunch and rustle of leaves with each step I made. The acoustics of this season are different and all sounds, no matter how hushed, are as crisp as autumn air.” --- Eric Sloane