January

Snows come in the night. I see the hints of their visits in dusty coatings on the grass and moist driveways like a whispered reminder of things that happen while I am unconscious.

What else is happening beneath my radar? The planet has traveled halfway through its orbit since my July post opining about the glories of mid-summer. How many millions of miles have we flown across the galaxy, tethered only minimally to our sun? We think of gravity as so strong and powerful, and yet the force that holds us in our solar system isn't strong enough to keep me from standing up after swinging out of bed each morning.

Still, here we are, after having drunk in the warmth of summer and the cooling winds of fall, tilted as far away from the sun's life-giving rays as we can be. The trees sleep without my notice, drinking only gentle sips as the slowly melting snow trickles stingily through the frozen soil. Starlings climb and dive and swerve in groups over the hills behind the house. Their silent movements aren't easily detected through my tightly bolted windows. Geese sit in snowy cornfields among stalks broken and faded like bones. I pass them on the road and ignore their comings and goings. Have they flown 'south' for this? How they must be disappointed.

The forecast calls for high temperatures clamped down into the 30's as far as the eye can see. Winds continue to buffet the house, sitting atop a hill and unprotected by trees. Cloudy mornings remain dark till just about the time we leave for the bus stop. News arrives of first this friend, then that, being felled by seasonal illnesses. Night comes on quickly beginning at 4. Nothing seems to be changing in the depths of winter.

But still we are flying, coming around the sun again. Without my notice, each day has a little more sunlight than the last. January days will stack up on each other until we are able to see Valentine's Day just ahead in the calendar. I have begun contemplating seed purchases for the garden. No, I will not repeat last year's venture with melons and beans. Fewer tomato plants - and all plum this time. What then? More peppers? Spring lettuces? Better trellises (again) for the peas. Plenty of time for design.

But I will not wish away time. These stacking days are full of tiny miracles. Suddenly J is taller, and it occurs to me that she is almost 6. JBL grills quickly outside amidst the blustery night air, and we soak in the Christmas tree - up for just a few more days - while we eat at the coffee table. Cookies remain, to be consumed happily over steaming hot chocolate. Any excuse to have a fire in the fireplace is a good one, and the girls rejoice merrily as JBL brings armloads of firewood in from under the deck as though he is ushering in a private party just for the four of us.

These delights that happen inside the winter home do not go unnoticed. So as we make the long uphill climb to spring, let the trees and perrenials rest. Let the wind howl and the snow fall. Let us fly through space silently, with gravity carrying us across time to a place where we can play outside again. And in the meantime, January lives and breathes warm inside our home.