By Hardscrabble Farmer - January 19, 2025

I woke in the darkness an hour before sunrise. The wind had been blowing hard for days, the sound of it lulling me to sleep and then hours later drawing me up from the world of dreams as it roared outside the windows. The temperature had fallen to the single digits for the last week or so, colder if you believed what they said about the wind chill factor, but it was warm beneath the blankets as my adjusted to the dimmest ember of the dawn through the windows to the east. In the coldest months of Winter we tend to slow our efforts down and spend a great deal more of our time in contemplation than in the vigorous labor of the warmer months. I got up and let the dogs in for their meal having spent the long night patrolling the farmyard in the bitter cold. I listened to them eat from their bowls while I made coffee in the lambent glow of the kitchen, the soft tinkling of their collar and tags keeping a perfect rhythm with their feeding . . .

[SNIP]