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Large white puffs of snow were drifting down. It was the first snowfall of the season. One landed on my eyelash as I walked back from letting the hens out for the day. It’s always a delight when a snowflake falls on your eyelash, isn’t it? It’s like putting on a jacket you haven’t worn in ages and finding cash in the pocket.
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Back inside, the wood stove made a series of gentle ticks as the logs caught flame. The ticks start slowly and then get progressively louder and faster until the stove is hot. With the quietness of snow falling outside, the crackle of fire and the tick, tick, tick of expanding metal is like its own welcome song to winter. If the sting of cold on your fingertips is a reminder of the difficult realities of winter, the stove song is an invitation to the joys and specialness of winter.
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There are plenty of things to be done. I spent a few hours checking the goats and cleaning their water trough, but soon I was back inside in front of the stove. “Just be here, just be here,” I heard in my head. So instead of the things on my to-do list, I grabbed a gingham wool blanket and curled up near the fire. The fire is so warm. A magical warmth. It seems to transcend physical temperature and spill over into emotional temperature. Despite all the things that felt like they were going wrong that season and the disappointments of the year, they all seemed to matter less right then.
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Who knows, maybe taking naps by the fire is just as important as checking off all the tasks on your list. It might even be more productive than being productive. And certainly, just as delightful as a snowflake landing on your eyelash.
