A Seasonal Message

Another brisk morning. There’s the smell of smoke from my neighbor’s woodburning stove. A little clutch of deer is grazing along the fence. The first hints of traffic are moving down highway 290. The air is clear, and a waning moon is hanging in the western sky. A prototypical winter’s day, I would say, made for sweatshirts, jackets and knit hats if that’s your proclivity.

Nothing much on the agenda today, except planting a little flat of pansies I bought yesterday to brighten the porch. And if the weather warms a bit, I may wash a few windows to use the squeegee that accompanied the plant purchase. During the same trip I bought a stamp, at a different store, that says, paid. I suppose it makes me feel business-like to stamp that on bills I’ve paid. I could write it, but it just feels more official with a stamp. That probably falls into the category of to each his own. I may also start work on my Christmas cards today. I’ve already gotten one or two myself.

Speaking of Christmas, my decision to forgo outside Christmas lights seems to be paying off in an odd way. I actually feel as though I’m walking up to Christmas rather than speeding along an interstate. In fact, I’m putting up my tree on Christmas eve this year just as I did as a child. Cycling back to the religious calendar, I suppose, versus the commercial version. It seems appropriate in this year of loss, to find some bedrock upon which I can plant my feet and begin the process of bouncing back.