Last night’s sunset – Photo: L. Weikel

All Talked Out

There’s something about the silence that holds hands with the darkness of winter nights. I know it’s not yet technically winter (we have 12 days to go), but you might be forgiven for not realizing that fact if your only barometer was listening. It’s almost as if the world is all talked out.

Most of the leaves on the deciduous trees have fallen to the ground or been blown far and wide, so there’s barely a rustle now when a wind kicks up. Crickets and katydids have been gone for weeks and peepers and tree frogs have burrowed deep in the mud in their attempts to escape getting nicked by Jack Frost.

Of course, the silence is what’s speaking to me this evening. I find myself remembering writing with the front door wide open, a cacophony of wildlife from insects to four leggeds to winged ones sharing the night with me.

I’ve written before of my comfort with being immersed in quiet. Winter (or pre-winter) nights are simply the best for contemplation and reflection. Sometimes I have to reel myself back in, realizing I’ve been surfing the edge of presence and now have 15 fewer minutes in which to write a post.

No Tree Yet

Truth be told, the only thing I’m missing right now are the lights of a Christmas tree. That’s actually a most excellent excuse to leave the house this weekend, as it won’t entail going inside anywhere to secure one except to pay. The exponential increases in infections are not to be ignored. We’re being careful, but every day things feel riskier and riskier.

The fact that we’ve not bought or put one up yet this year has us running a bit behind schedule – at least in comparison to recent years. We’re actually pretty much on schedule with the way my parents bought a tree, though. We’d always get our tree ‘right around Carol’s birthday,’ which this year will be this Thursday. (Yes, this is the Carol of Carol’s Chocolate Cake.)

So maybe this year’s Christmas tree hunt will harken back more to my childhood than that of my own kids’. And no Karl, it will not bring back the good ol’ days of melting tinsel on the Christmas tree’s lights.

Wind Chiming

Aaah. Just as I’m writing about the silence of winter, the wind chimes Karl and I gave each other for our anniversary are nuzzled by a baby blow of cold. Just enough to magically ring but one single note over and over, carrying it down the yard to the barn and back again. “Ding…ding… ding.”

How is the whispering wind managing to kiss the chimes ever so precisely as to ring only one tone out of five?  Somehow that single note only heightens my realization that I’m all talked out.

(T-353)