On The Feast of Stephen

The dogs allowed us to sleep late today –0700 — and after they had eaten and while the good Texas pecan coffee was brewing, I took Jinx for a walk. Not even a hundred yards into the ramble and I was wishing I’d worn sunglasses. The fresh-risen sun was slashing across the diamond-studded smooth white surface laying on the fields, and it hurt my eyes. All about me, though, was beauty of the pure shocking kind that only wintertime can produce. The snow lay all around, deep and crisp and even, and Jinx chased a cow that had somehow escaped her fenced pasture. My heart lifted as the sun lifted, and I enjoyed seeing the puffs of white smoke coming from the spotted dog’s snout, as he had a Camel clamped between his lips. When I felt my face going numb in the breeze, which was cru-el, I called JInx to return to home, and he trotted ahead of me, stopping to scoop and eat snow. When we reached our driveway, the iced bow in the road showed me no safe place to cross, so I began moving with glacial pace and keen deliberation across the slick expanse. Two feet out and my feet almost went out from under me. Jinx took my windmill-armed capering as an invitation to play and ran to me. Envisioning that inevitable broken hip, I warned him off and managed to regain my footing, then inched across until I was off the ice and back in the snow. Jinx loped to the front door while I ambled along behind him, listening to the squeaking moan of my boots sinking into the pure powder

After breakfast, Mrs. Orr and I took down the tree and the decorations. We have always been of the same mind, that Christmas decorations after Christmas are depressing. Within two hours, they were all down and put away. Now time to do a bit of vacuuming and cleaning up of needles and icicles and dust, and the house will be tinsel-less again for a year. By the time I came back inside from storing things in the shed, I was ready for some flesh and wine, ready to be warmed by the fu-el of pine logs. Or poplar, as is the case here.

The temps will rise slightly above freezing by about four pm, and will rise into the high forties tomorrow. Later today, I will dig and sweep the vehicles out of their crystalline comforter in order to allow the sun to do a bit of melting and warming.

I saw a new bird beneath one of the feeders a while ago. Got out my Sibley book to try and identify it, but so far I am unsatisfied with the possibilities. The little thing looked like a cross between a peewee and a flycatcher. A very distinct almost-tufted head with stripes running along the sides of what looked like a toupee. And what appeared to be the very slightest hook to the beak. I will keep searching. Perhaps the one I saw was a juvenile, which means the appearance can be slightly different from the adult. At any rate, it was a delight to watch him feed along with the chickadees, jays, doves, cardinals, titmice, cedar waxwings, orioles, and house finches.

Sunday is a day of rest, but the remainder of today is going to be a day of rest, too. For our bones tell us so.

Peace and blessings to each of you, my friends, upon St. Stephen’s Day.

~ S.K. Orr