231231 the last day of the year

 December 29, 2023

Ten days since I have written. It feels like months since we returned to Quebec. It has been eleven days. Christmas came and went. I had dinner, on the 25th, at Rain's, though K, the hermit, stayed at the vineyard. Rain and Tal prepared a traditional dinner, turkey (one of the several they raised themselves), potatoes, carrots, beets, stuffing, and gravy, perfect. We sat six around the big wooden table in the kitchen, Tal's father, an old friend, and Tal's aunt. It was quiet and cheerful, warm as if candlelit, though there were no candles. The big woodstove kept us warm. 

Fox slept through dinner. He woke just after we ate, and with his usual matter-of-fact acceptance of my presence, showed me his new toys. I was as delighted with them as he was! There were trains and cars and helicopters. I gave them voices, which delights Fox - he insists I make them "talk" some more. We put out numerous fires with the firetruck and helicopter, and rescued several people with the ambulance. I don't think he smiled once, so intent was he, but his attention and interactions showed his contentment. 

We have not seen the sun since we got here. It has been foggy and rainy. I came to the vineyard to leave Tamar and family to their own Christmas, and to be here for some wintertime. It is beautiful here when the snow is a permanent fixture, when the air is cold, fresh and new. It is a pleasure to have a kitchen to myself, to move towards a healthier diet, away from the hundred stores and restaurants near us in Etobicoke, where any wildly unhealthy but tempting food one might want is five minutes away. Rocky, too, likes it here, where he can go outside without collar or accompaniment and explore the meadow and woods. The relationships at #48, which K seems to ignore, don't seem to bother him; he keeps to himself. But I can't seem to separate myself from the other souls around me and I am drawn in by their presence. It is difficult for Rocky too, I think, to be with the others all the time. The sun, we have not seen, nor snow! 

At last, on this final day of 2023, a fall of snow! Every tree branch and bush is painted with the snow; it falls so gently that it stays where it lands, making a white and black magic picture of the world. 

Rain and Fox stayed the night and now Fox is playing with his trucks as we begin our day. I have been waking up in a wonderful mood every morning since being here, singing, and blathering to K about all sorts of nonsense. This morning there is the added delight of Fox, his language developing so fast, his skill with his toys growing apace. And of course, the snow.

sunrise dec 21

the prints of a bobcat or fox, they look raised, not sunken, the way the shadows work.

rodent

sun dog

a deer print on the meadow

and turkey prints! 

sometimes a branch gets caught after breaking and becomes a damocles' sword.

23 dec. sunrise. We have seen the sun, then, some mornings, but by midday it is grey again.

dec. 24: mountains pretending to be clouds.

fire on the hills. Christmas day, sunrise.

the witches in the mist.

I have often remarked that the hills seem higher then lower, across the valley. On this day, I discovered why this illusion happens. When the farther mountains are not visible because of cloud, this sleeping dragon seems to be midway up the sky. Then in the picture below, the far hills are visible and the dragon seems to be low in the valley. All the same, the illusion seems like magic, the mountains all along the south, not just the dragon, seem to be higher or lower on the horizon, each day different. 

December 31

Snow, at last. I came here for this: the white, white snow.

the moon caught in the branches of our red maple. 

I finally looked up in the book, the owl that I hear most nights on the ridge. It is a barred owl, and says a proper, "Hoohoohoohoo-hoohoohoohooo!".

May 2024 be a better year for all.

Mumma Yaga