Friday Ramble - Counting Winter's Bounty

Over and over again, the village freezes and thaws. Every puddle in the park seems to be talking to the sky, sometimes clouded and grey, sometimes clear and blue. Encountering sunlight is always engaging this late in the year, particularly in a pool of melt water.

It is mild enough for Beau and I to be outdoors for hours, and we potter along at a snail's pace, talking with the trees (especially the beech mother in the park), listening to crows conversing over our heads, counting cones on the old pines in the woods.

This morning we returned home with our pockets full of fragrant seed bearers in all shapes and sizes, happier with our gathered abundance than we would have been with bags of glittering coin. My companion has no pockets of his own of course, and he makes use of mine.

Long walks cannot uproot our grief, but they soothe aching hearts in some small measure. We walk for miles, and the beloved who has gone on ahead is never far from our thoughts. Wherever he journeys, we send him our love. May his trail be easy and filled with light.