My morning ride to take Sugar to the pond has become a bit like a meditation. It gives me a chance to feel each change the seasons bring. Some mornings are grey, others blood red, and some crisp blue. The sun peeks golden through the trees, it's rays glowing in the mist, on clear days. The air is moist on my face and smells alive, even while the trees stand naked in their winter slumber.
We've had several rains in the past week. The mosses, which had lain pale against the earth during the dry spell, grow lush and green in wild contrast to the deep rust leaves that fall over it like confetti. So far the winter here has been gentle with soft rains, cool nights, and warm days. Leaves blanket the moist earth and the grasses still are green beneath the light buff of dead seed stalks. I know it will grow colder, yet it is nearly midwinter, and the days flow quickly toward spring.