It's cold. Really, really cold. I'm wearing layers of wool, canvas, and an old fur musher's hat. Jazz and Annie pee quick then rush back inside for round two of their morning nap. I too go inside to fill up the chicken's water font I'd brought in to defrost late last night. When I go back outside it feels colder. I trudge through the icy slick to the coop. My flashlight scans the snow around the hen house for coyote prints. I'm relieved to see none. The birds their feed and water, and I return to the porch for a flake of hay.
I'm walking back to the cabin and see the porch light and stop to look. I realize how comforting this place is and for a moment feel warm. My little rented house is like a hot coal dropped in the snow. What a blessing to know I'll be back inside soon. I grab an armful of hay and head back out into the dark, but do so knowing breakfast and coffee are mine soon. I then realize another thing: I can't wait for the solstice. Dark mornings are grand in their own way, but I find mysself whispering Goethe's famous last words as I walk to my sheep...