2 snippets of "here" 

Dusk

The house begins to darken, the sun slides low, switches are flipped to “on”, the wood stove is stoked and glowing.   I ask, like the little red hen, “Who will help me care for our creatures?”  Instead of a unified cry of “NOT I!”  I receive a sweet offer.   “I’ll come with you Mom,” says my oldest son, his big blue eyes so earnest.  

We dress in barn-gear, brace ourselves for the transition from home dweller to barn resident.  Cold air hitchhikes on a steady breeze jumping into the neck of my oldest son’s over-sized coat.  Whoo hoo!” He lets out.  His falsetto bubbles me over and I am giggling at his misfortune.  Me, dressed in the barn coat that we both love.  The one that seems to weigh 20 pounds, but wraps around and buttons up efficiently keeping all of the warmth nestled inside.  My boy is in his Dad’s coat fitting him like a bell and he the clapper-the exclamations fairly donging out of him.

Working alongside another is warmth tonight as we put the farm animals to bed.  The goats get hot water from the kitchen tap.  We carry 10 gallons in 2 buckets, trying not to slosh as we make our way out to the barnyard.   Willow, the aloof goat, sees us coming and immediately drinks when the buckets are set down.  She pushes her herd mates away with grunts and head butts claiming a bucket as her own.  Her lips purse goofily as she sucks the water in, the meniscus of the water floating down, down, down.  I wait, mesmerized, just to see how much she will take in, wondering what she would do if the bucket held Earl Grey tea.  Yes, I am going to make her tea soon.   Perhaps she and I can make it a regular routine, tea for two, a doe for tea?  Doe ray mi fa so la tea?

The chickens are already roosting, heads nodding.  I look for Tenacious, the white hen who begs for cat food each morning and evening. She has settled down for the night next to a tired old rooster.   The knot of worry releases.  The hawks have been active.  This is their time of year to attack the easy prey- our flock.
A few years ago, hawks took 8 in one dusk.  The next morning I found the carnage.  Eight of our youngest fowl were lying about the garden strewn and slumped, pecked deeply.  Two were still breathing-barely.  I picked them up so gently and lectured myself not to get hopes up.  They will surely die, I said.  I placed them under a heat lamp and gave them permission to die.  “You have been good roosters and it’s ok to go,” I whispered.  Every day, they refused to die.  Every day, I fed them watered-down yogurt from the blunt end of a syringe.  The injured roosters lived.  Crippled and determined, they make their own way daily.  If a being wants to live that badly, we allow it here, efficiency always losing out to some courageous soul. 

Ducks quack quietly in the corner a little like snores, a little like raspy whispers- a lullaby for certain. My son dumps the ducks' murky bowl, fills it with clean water, then feeds the eager barn cats while shooing away the chickens and the obese porch cat.  I shut all of the doors locking in the fowl and the goats for the night.   The sheeps’ water is topped off and we check the hay supply.  Spanky, my favorite sheep begs for grain.  “Not tonight, I call back.”  He stops begging immediately and walks into the lower barn joining the other sheep and putting himself to bed.  

We turn and face the barns.  “Everyone has food and water and the barn doors are shut,” I say quietly and really only to myself.  We turn towards the house and enjoy the cold air knowing that it is temporary, knowing that our comforts await.  We talk easily, walk slowly, feel the moonlight on our backs
gently pressing us home.

Tucked in.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Unexpected lightness

We wake to snow

Still on the ground 

Snow!!!

Weightless powder fluffs feathery over boots

 My limbs obey the rhythm, the swoosh, the glide of cross country skiing. 

Right leg slide, left arm pole propel,

Left leg slide, right arm pole propel. 

Whoosh, thud, whoosh thud. 

Gravity is freed and it is flight!  

The cold wind slaps wintery insults,

 But the layers are shed in defiance

 so much heat emitted from the exuberant effort

Required  to stop only by legs rubberized and wiggly

Euphoria betrayed by a muscle’s reality

Whoosh, thud beating more slowly

Layers added

Winter’s embrace sharp, unforgiving

Skis detached, a metallic release

boots walking, foreign, clumsy

Still soul gliding...