proof on cold fingers
I walked with Gibson to the barn, and we went inside to feed Jasper and collect some hay for the sheep. The chores are now so ingrained they flow through me the way Great High Mountain does on a fiddle. You do something enough times it becomes a part of you, like driving, or putting on a pair of pants.
I was wearing a flannel shirt, a Carhartt sweater, a thick wool scarf and my fingerless mittens (you can fiddle in these). I was certainly feeling the weather. The percolator was already heating on the stove, but I wished I had coffee before chores. Some mornings, these new weather events, call for celebration.
I thought about my day ahead. I thought about Steve jobs. I thought about how that gray/blue light of pre-dawn in October is still mine, even though people left the world yesterday, I can have this a little while longer. I said a prayer. Joseph, my black sheep started running down the hill to me and my grain, he had a bit of frost along his back. I suppose they all did, but his you could see by the trick on contrast, even in that dim light. I felt the ice on the wool and understood a small bit of real change in the world, proof on cold fingers.
I learn things slowly. If I don't want to learn something, I fight against it with all I've got. But when I realize them, like ice on a wether at dawn, they are accepted without fuss. Things are how they are. We're lucky to be here.
Enjoy this new day.