Come in,

come in! Close the door - it's cold out there.

Come stand

This is my favorite moment of the day, the time of day I

most appreciate this west-facing glass wall bringing in

the outdoors. Like a beautiful mural, isn't it? No, much

better, really: the world outside is always on the move.

Trees sway,

leaves fall, birds come and go from the feeders all day.

Why, even on still days, the light changes as the day

ebbs, clouds throw patterns - there's always

movement.

Don't you

love winter in Georgia? I do, I really do. I love the way

the sky looks when dark clouds bank up on one side and

the low slant of the sun burnishes the earth. I love

winter colors: tawny grasses, red-leather leaves all

frosted, tree trunks shiny black after a rain. Azure

skies, another winter blessing, the perfect backdrop for

a display of the architecture of trees, the strength of

their trunks and the lace of their twigs.

These

wonders are cloaked when the trees are in leaf. Walking,

sometimes we'll spot a bird's nest in a shrub within

arm's reach. While its owner built it last spring, it was

hidden from view, invisible as she guarded her eggs,

hatched and fed her brood, darted in and out of the bush

a hundred times a day. And we were none the wiser.

And a

winter full moon - oh my! Several hours after last

month's eclipse, I woke to see white light in shards on

the floor, scattered by branches raking the sky. Summer

moonlight is ethereal; winter's is brittle as ice.

Well, all

right, I like every season, but I have a special fondness

for weather that begs for steaming soup and a fire in the

stove. Don't you love to linger under a thick down

comforter on a chilly morning? I don't miss warm weather

tasks like watering and deadheading flowers, or sweeping

decks and walkways as we have to in the fall. I certainly

don't miss the chiggers and no-seeums that make garden

work miserable.

Sweatshirts

suit me better than tank tops, and I look better in jeans

than in shorts. You say you hadn't noticed the ponds

behind the house before? Another plus for winter: when

the leaves are off the trees, we can see the glint of

sunlight on the water, especially when the ducks are

splashing.

I guess it

sounds Pollyanna-ish, but I don't even mind gray days

when the trees bow and the eaves are fringed with ice.

Sure, I get tired of the cold. The older I get, the

colder I get, and the more grateful that someone invented

the electric blanket! But I relish the comfort of the

stove, the rain sluicing down the glass, the bushes all

glassy.

I love the

sense of well-being, gratitude that we don't have to go

anywhere. (That's the big difference, of course: We don't

have to go anywhere. If working at home or retiring early

has no other argument, there's a strong one in simply

being able to stay in the place you love best. I hope the

trends toward even more telecommuting are here to stay.)

There, the

water's hot; let me find a tea bag. Mind the cat.

Wouldn't be the first time someone tripped over him

there. Old Peach has come full circle. When we first

brought him home nearly 20 years ago, he was a mere puff

ball, the color of pale spun gold, as wide as he was

tall.

He'd sit in

front of the Franklin stove, like many a baby stubbornly

determined to stay awake. We'd watch him wobble from side

to side as he started to doze, until he plopped over,

sound asleep. He spends most of his time now there in

front of the gas logs, toasting first one side and then

the other, eventually sagging like a soft candle and

falling asleep on the warm tiles. After we shut it off at

night, he makes one more trip to the food dish in Dave's

shop, then dodders into our room and curls up in a basket

with a pillow in it.

Lately he's

taken to caterwauling in the wee hours: "Er-wow,

wow, wow! Ow, wow, row." A paperback book lobbed

from a night table hushes him. He's deaf, you see, and

doesn't hear our reassurances. I suspect he wakes up cold

or confused, doesn't know where he is. They say that's

common in old cats, night wailing. Whatever the cause,

it's costing us sleep.

Look. Look

at that painted sky. I make it a point to stop and watch

the sun set - there are only so many sunsets in a

lifetime. Used to dread winter, thought it the old age of

the year and a reminder of my own mortality. But then the

days begin to lengthen, and the sunsets are spaced

further apart, and I sit down to write in full confidence

that there will be another, and another.

I'm glad

you were here to share this one.

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