Signs of the Season

The winter season is fast approaching our little corner, and the signs are evident all around. The vibrant colors of autumn have been replaced by primarily monochromatic shades of grey, with tiny hints of red from the bittersweet vines splashed here and there. The colorful songbirds have left for their winter homes, leaving the chickadees, nuthatches, woodpeckers, and blue-jays to weather winter's bitter chill. 

Winter coats and scarves hang on the hooks in the mudroom, and the little ones' boots line the wall below. Mittens, hats and other knit woolens have been pulled out of storage, keeping little ones warm when they play outside.

Lip balm has been strategically placed throughout the house to soothe dry lips. Runny noses and fevers have been nursed, and lots of hot, comforting drinks have been sipped.

Fluffy down comforters and quilts and are pulled up to our chins each night when we settle in for sleep; more books are read; more games are played, and more knitting is done.  Christmas gifts have been secretly worked on, and brown boxes have been arriving in the mail.  We are now easing into the next season, leaving autumn with its busy weeks behind. The Littles look forward to the upcoming holidays, Thanksgiving at Grandma's with lots of aunts and uncles, and, of course, all the festivities of Christmas are soon coming.  Thanks for coming by today.  I always enjoy sharing with you, and it makes my day when you stop in.  I want to leave you with this poem from Robert Frost; it captures winter in our corner so well...I hope you enjoy.

A Winter Eden

 by Robert Frost

A winter garden in an alder swamp,

Where conies now come out to sun and romp,

As near a paradise as it can be

And not melt snow or start a dormant tree.

It lifts existence on a plane of snow

One level higher than the earth below,

One level nearer heaven overhead,

And last year's berries shining scarlet red.

It lifts a gaunt luxuriating beast

Where he can stretch and hold his highest feat

On some wild apple tree's young tender bark,

What well may prove the year's high girdle mark.

So near to paradise all pairing ends:

Here loveless birds now flock as winter friends,

Content with bud-inspecting. They presume

To say which buds are leaf and which are bloom.

A feather-hammer gives a double knock.

This Eden day is done at two o'clock.

An hour of winter day might seem too short

To make it worth life's while to wake and sport.