The Quiet of Snow

I was in the kitchen a few minutes after 7 this morning--small chance of the cats letting anyone sleep in.

With the cats fed and their litter boxes cleaned, I stood at the south window savoring my mug of coffee. As I watched, the finest of snow flakes began to fall, blown sideways by a little ruffling of wind.

Like the cats, Pebbles the Horse is aware of that moment when anyone is awake and out of bed. J. was still sleeping, so I hauled on wellies and a warm old jacket.  As soon as she heard the garage door creak up, Pebs began to whinney and snort.  As I approached with feed bucket swinging from my hand, she cavorted in circles, kicking up her elderly heels, tossing her head.  The bag of special feed for founder-prone equines was nearly empty, so I mixed a handful of her old sweet feed with it--a treat for her, I'm sure. [My hands are small, so I don't think that "handful" could cause a problem.]  She made all manner of appreciative horse noises--worth the cold trek across the yard without my quilt-lined Carhartts just to see her performance.

Across the pond and down toward the old barn.  Everything is white and nearly soundless.  Even the sparse traffic on the road below us made little noise.

Teasel is feeling better and being ever so cooperative about the antibiotic she has to have twice a day from a dropper. She does keep her herring-bone-patterned tail wrapped rather closely. She hasn't quite recovered from the indignity of having me hold her down to examine the abcess on her bum---nor of having "Doctor Bill" scrub and lance the nasty thing.

Dear little Raisin is looking so old and frail.  Her food has never set well, a "delicate stomach"  no matter what diet we try. Always a small cat, she is now very thin.

Sparrows and juncos are busy at the feeder and on the ground under it.

Startled by my camera, the birds whooshed from the feeder and resettled in the tree behind the guest cabin.

The sun at noon.

The paperwhites planted in mid-November are showing growth. They never sprout and stretch at the same rate--always one or two which lag behind.

I put potatoes in the oven to bake for a late dinner. Our good neighbor gifted us with half of a huge Hubbard squash she and her husband raised and there is that, seasoned with butter and a dash of maple syrup, to eat with the potatoes. As I puttered in the kitchen the weak sun moved in a low sweep toward the west, back-lighting the sparrows on the dark bare branches.

J. has been down the pasture path to his "shop" and then into town to buy gas for the tractor in order to plow the driveway. He came in to warm his hands, placing his gloves over the propane fireplace to thaw. The cats thronged to see what was going on [you recall curiosity and cats?]

 decided that they did not recognize his red winter jacket and the woolen "bomber" cap he resurrected from the closet this morning.  As one, they skittered toward the bedroom door for safety, then couldn't resist peeking out to see if he was really someone they know.