Watching a Bluejay dance so gently on a frosted pumpkin rind. I study her feet moving in December’s pace as I follow fluffy white tracks up and around.
Patches of green clover, of summer’s fertility, tucked safely within. Just the show of trust in a long-standing partnership I’ve been waiting to witness.
All through the pasture, tiny foot pockets create windows from one season into the next. I pick a sprig of green, tuck it within folds of cold pink fabric nestled alongside feathers and my morning prayer.
The hedgerow opens and I slip back through with nature’s blessing, commune with the woodstove once again on warmth and settling in for these slow lessons as they’re given.