Stars were out at 4:45 a.m.
A fierce, cold wind was still whipping out of the north.
For the past week, I've been seeing a part of the morning often reserved for Bill.
Usually, I'm inside upstairs at this computer, drinking coffee and surfing the web while he's still outside with the stars and the dogs.
We've traded routines, for a while.
It's not easy bundling up in layers and pounds of bulky clothing first thing at oh-dark-thirty to head out into the cold, dark air withOUT that first cup of coffee.
Once those old, stiff legs loosen up and move one step at a time without too much resistance, life outside in the cold February air is not that bad.
By the time I pass the barn and reach the lane, I've usually acclimated enough to find some enjoyment in the pre-caffeine morning.
After all, the deep, glistening snow along either side of the lane has remained pretty for several days.
And, that massive dark morning sky, with a twinkle here and a twinkle there, reminds me of the insignificance of self and that the frustrations of fighting with the morning are pretty itsy bitsy in the grand scheme of things.
By the time, I've urged Kiwi and Liam onward from their continuous ruff-ruff's-ruff's and rumbles over that ball and have managed to step OVER several hot steaming and stinky dog logs along the way, mental cobwebs have diminished and my mind has come fully awake.
BTW: Little Foster scurries along on his own to get his business done quickly, providing more time for him to nibble on frozen horse apples before heading back to the house.
At the far end of the lane where snow piles block any hints of the gate into the hay field, a right turn in front of the big wood and equipment shed leads directly into even stronger wind gusts coming across a wide expanse of open fields.
I kinda enjoy taking that wind head-on, knowing that for just a short distance, those forceful gusts will slap and bite away at my face and inject a little white powder into my eyes.
Maybe that brief interlude of the early morning provides a symbolic gesture for the rest of the day and for life in general.
When the going gets tough, the tough can get going.
Good practice for the really major challenges we sometimes face.
On the walk back down the lane, I'm usually conscious enough to think about what this day might bring.
Will today be a Costco run (with or without Bill) or another drive (with Bill) to enjoy some more winter beauty?
That will get decided after coffee and the blog and the remainder of morning chores.
During the walk back to the house, my mind also wanders toward spring and bare ground and green grass and flowers and lettuce and all horses shedding and people shedding all those cumbersome layers of clothing.
By the time, I reach the shop, reality strikes as I try to avoid ice patches and walk alongside drifted snowbanks and that greenhouse with its duct-taped door and half of its roof panels stored inside because of being blown off in past punishing winds.
Yup, it will be a while before I can even get the greenhouse door open, I think.
Still, there's no harm in musing about those days ahead when Bill is once again walking on two feet and the three feet of snow is all gone and he's walking dogs while I drink morning coffee.
That will be a while, but the orchid my sisters gave me (pictured above), positioned among my tiny flower and veggie starts AND the cutest picture ever of a No. 1-in-the-Nation men's college basketball team.
Bright spots, indeed!
It's during these times of long winter's nights and cold, cold days and this new routine for Bill and me hopefully leading to better times ahead that little bright spots---be they stars twinkling in morning skies or colorful orchids or the ZAGS----can make all the difference.
So, we continue to soldier on toward spring.
Happy Tuesday.
By the time I pass the barn and reach the lane, I've usually acclimated enough to find some enjoyment in the pre-caffeine morning.
After all, the deep, glistening snow along either side of the lane has remained pretty for several days.
And, that massive dark morning sky, with a twinkle here and a twinkle there, reminds me of the insignificance of self and that the frustrations of fighting with the morning are pretty itsy bitsy in the grand scheme of things.
By the time, I've urged Kiwi and Liam onward from their continuous ruff-ruff's-ruff's and rumbles over that ball and have managed to step OVER several hot steaming and stinky dog logs along the way, mental cobwebs have diminished and my mind has come fully awake.
BTW: Little Foster scurries along on his own to get his business done quickly, providing more time for him to nibble on frozen horse apples before heading back to the house.
At the far end of the lane where snow piles block any hints of the gate into the hay field, a right turn in front of the big wood and equipment shed leads directly into even stronger wind gusts coming across a wide expanse of open fields.
I kinda enjoy taking that wind head-on, knowing that for just a short distance, those forceful gusts will slap and bite away at my face and inject a little white powder into my eyes.
Maybe that brief interlude of the early morning provides a symbolic gesture for the rest of the day and for life in general.
When the going gets tough, the tough can get going.
Good practice for the really major challenges we sometimes face.
On the walk back down the lane, I'm usually conscious enough to think about what this day might bring.
Will today be a Costco run (with or without Bill) or another drive (with Bill) to enjoy some more winter beauty?
That will get decided after coffee and the blog and the remainder of morning chores.
During the walk back to the house, my mind also wanders toward spring and bare ground and green grass and flowers and lettuce and all horses shedding and people shedding all those cumbersome layers of clothing.
By the time, I reach the shop, reality strikes as I try to avoid ice patches and walk alongside drifted snowbanks and that greenhouse with its duct-taped door and half of its roof panels stored inside because of being blown off in past punishing winds.
Yup, it will be a while before I can even get the greenhouse door open, I think.
Still, there's no harm in musing about those days ahead when Bill is once again walking on two feet and the three feet of snow is all gone and he's walking dogs while I drink morning coffee.
That will be a while, but the orchid my sisters gave me (pictured above), positioned among my tiny flower and veggie starts AND the cutest picture ever of a No. 1-in-the-Nation men's college basketball team.
Bright spots, indeed!
It's during these times of long winter's nights and cold, cold days and this new routine for Bill and me hopefully leading to better times ahead that little bright spots---be they stars twinkling in morning skies or colorful orchids or the ZAGS----can make all the difference.
So, we continue to soldier on toward spring.
Happy Tuesday.
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