December
December pours the world into a stunning silence. Our first falls of snow start out light and bare and slowly build, quieting the landscape into a beautiful calm. The gentle white glints with the fleeting sun in the distant fields and the windows are heavily frosted each morning, painting the outside world in a way that makes it foreign to look at. Mornings mean bundling up in rich, thick sweaters and throwing plenty of homemade blankets onto the bed. Nights are crisp with a velvet darkness that seems darker than it is in the summertime twilight, and the skies clear so much, it almost hurts the eyes to look up at the plethora of brilliant stars.
Every plant is silently sleeping underground. The trees, bushes and vines are barren, their branches looking like dark veins against the cool grey skies. Critters scurry underneath the crust of snow, and the dogs and cats are eagerly hunting for a bit of fun, leaping about and covering themselves with cool, wet flakes. Walks mean bundling up, rosy cheeks and noses, and a thick cup of hot chocolate when we return home from our adventures around the farm. Books are read by candlelight, and the steady chop of the axe meeting the woodblock can be heard outdoors as the husband stokes the warming fires. Meanwhile my fingers are constantly sticky with batter, and the house smells of baked goods on a regular basis. We cuddle and fatten ourselves up with warming food and drink, while we read to each other, cuddle on the lumpy sofa.
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