Dancing with words

Next to autumn, winter is my favorite season. I love that the moist wet ether brings out the green in thick moss that covers the root and meanders over fallen logs. I love dark, blustery nights by the fireplace, snug warm beneath my blanket, with Oz curled beside me while we watch old movies that make us cry. In the early morning of a wintry day, I stand at the window and look into the wooded mountain floating through the mist, and I smell the pine scented wind as it tinkles gently with the wind chimes around my house.

I love the silence of a winter day and the memories it conjures. Mid-day can find me walking the neighborhood where I always stop when a logging truck rumbles past. It poses a sorrow in me to see the tall trees stripped of their branches, prone next to one another in perfect symmetry. Murdered Majesty.

The other day while Ozzy and I were on our walk, we heard bird sounds from up on high. Many birds piercing the cold thin air with their songs. My friends the Crows, commingling with some ruffian gulls, scattered to the lines when they saw us. Busted. “Shame on you…” I admonished as they stared down and bellowed echoing caws through the sunlight. But this is winter after all, and what’s a lonely crow to do?

Oz just wandered in, paws click-clacking on the wood floor. He put his face on my chest, impeding the tapping of computer keys, and stares up with those begging eyes of his. Guess I’m going to bundle-up and take a walk through the neighborhood before the rain falls. I can already smell her perfume so she must not be too far. I better hurry along now…..

 

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