I am not, as I have mentioned in this space before, fond of the wind. In its rush to be elsewhere, air on the move unsettles my universes: the interior one as well as the world outside. The agitated limbs of the ponderosa pines outside the windows might well be emblems of the jittering of…
The pattern makes sense: that these winter months are a time of retreat, a withdrawal of sorts from the outdoor domain of wild that orients a significant part of my life. The weather is cold and even if it’s not—even if temperatures are freakishly warm, as they have been for most of February this year—the…
I like being a denizen of the temperate zones. I appreciate that the seasons here, dictated by my position on the globe, are so distinct. Watching the gradual cycling of weather, light, foliage, and animal activity has helped train me in the habit of attentiveness. Yes, I’ll think, there go the oak trees, turning to…
Determined to not let the wind dictate my activities, I head out for a walk on a February day. The air pouring across the ridge is comparatively mild, by which I mean that I can hear something other than wind roaring in my ears: the rustle of snow and ice grains skittering over hardened snowdrifts.…
The seasons’ slow cycling brings changes in the weather and the angle of the sun, along with shifts in the routines of daily life. On this high ridge in central Colorado, as in many other parts of the northern hemisphere, late fall brings the chance of snow (along with shoveling) and fires in the fireplace…