The stars seem very far apart this night. The bright moon castes deep shadows and is circled by a halo of ice and light. The grass rustles like paper, frosted and dry as it is. There is a warm smell of wood smoke hanging in the stillness of the air. Tonight the foxes will skitter and skit across the frozen ponds to the cold and sleeping ducks and snatch them from their dreams. Tonight the owl's wings will haunt the hedges, but mice will huddle safe in clusters, close together for safety and warmth. In holes in the wall, in hedges and trees wrens will form feather balls, packed in tight. They will sleep soundly in the safety of numbers, quiet as quiet, so that the stalking weasel will not hear.
And we will sleep draped over arm chairs and fire and bed, warm in the house where the dragon fire slumbers, while She dreams and reads and the dogs snore and remember in their moonlit slumber a dim and distant past when they were wolves.
We hope the outdoor creatures are warm and full-bellied on these nights of crackling cold. In this house, the 6 fur-friends have choices--soft chairs, a rug or two, a folded softness of quilts. And at night the bed would seem too big without a cat pile.
ReplyDeleteHere, on an island off the NW coast of British Columbia, the Wrens nestle into Barn Swallow nests under the eaves when it's really cold. One frozen night, years ago, my then-cat announced that Something had fallen past the window. I went out, found a befuddled Wren on the ground, and tucked it into the Swallow nest. My whole hand was engulfed in warm little brown feathers-I counted 17 Wrens! (Roo says to Rosie that pine needles are nice and crunchy and make good alarming coughs.)
ReplyDeleteThis is a beautiful bit of writing.
ReplyDeleteI can hear it, feel it, smell it.
Just the best.
Your writing is a wonderful example of well-expressed imagery merging with soulful emotion. It's an honor to read, and even if for a few poetic moments, to SEE with your vision.
ReplyDeleteOne.