The sun has moved closer into us. I saw it from the kitchen window this evening. It brought succour, a sense of what is to come. There was something positive in the way I had to bend the yellow venetian blind, just a tad, to block out the glare. Something that told me all was going to be well and that not long from now, the kitchen will be flooded with light.
The road is frozen in spots. I come across the danger when I least expect it. And three cold horses stand in a bare field and look at me with a forlorn air. The dogs bark at them as we pass by. The farmer walks away from them with an empty bucket. He looks strangely regal as he plods over the barren land, his attitude proud, territorial. One horse swishes a tail and then returns to a motionless stance. A pointless stare into nothing. Withering Christmas trees in windows look like Easter Eggs in July. Nothing travels that well.
Men at the turn in the road. At least six of them, all with those long steel pipes in their sturdy arms. They dig at the ice and shovel up and release the impediment that causes them to become one. I stop to observe, to query and a neighbour wishes me a Happy New Year. He looks excited to be part of this, this attack on the road. Underneath their long steel pipes the earth makes a grating sound, a churning of matter, like a bag of chocolate chips being added to cookie dough.
Keep walking. Walk on up the road, over the frozen puddles with the most intricate designs of stars and oceans etched into the surface, slide along, keep your head up, be proud, don't look left or right, wrap your shawl tight around your shoulders and feel that cold air on your face. Walk on. Touch the earth with all you feel and when a car chances to pass, wave, wave like it is the first and last wave you will ever give. Walk. For god's sake walk it all out of you and then bow to this day. Frozen day. Perfection. Horse breath is beautiful in cold air. It rises like thistle down in July.