It's winter

It's winter. Winter nights are long and cold and I wake in the dark. Rooting around the house and kitchen waiting on the day. I sit comfortably, coffee in hand, and watch. The orange cat, usually aloof, sits patiently warmly purring in my lap. My picture is made up of glass doors and narrow windows, enough to break up the scene. I crane my neck in search of better angles of viewing. Sipping, the cat and I wait. I like this time of day, the picture unfolding minute by minute. Soon the sun lightens the sky. It's cold today, eighteen I think, and the sky lights up. Sunshine peering through the trees, glistening over mountains and valley. The ground glowing with ice crystals reflects light everywhere, I squint. Sun is higher, clearly visible, nearly at its peak for the day. Though only in sight for a little while it will travel low in the winter sky. Mountains are blue and grey, confederates in a yankee sky. A light mist in the foothills, a blanket over waking Monroe and Frylands. A robin flies by, then a hummingbird, where have they been. Rivers in the valley move slowly if at all, sluggish and frozen. Smoke rises in the distance from homes starting their day. The air is still, and so am I, reveling, reflecting, incarnating. It's winter and all seems well. The day is bright, shadows long, strong over the frozen ground. At last the sun, shining full on my face makes me close my eyes. The cat and I sit in the warmth of the moment. He goes to eat and I to get another coffee. It's winter.