it's good to be outside, though, and the sun shines warm through barren trees as i cut and rake. as the day goes on, my turtleneck and hoodie give way to barn coat and a scarf when the air grows colder and windier. as i work, the season's first frigid air comes sharp in my nostrils and, when clouds move in from the west, a few flakes appear in the air. my fingers are cold inside the leather work gloves, but i am getting the job done.
up in the woods, i can hear the turkeys before i can see them, scratching through the fallen leaves in search of grubs and insects. i count only seven of them now and am sure there were more last summer. my rake unearths several wooly bear caterpillars, their wide brown stripes suggesting a long winter ahead.
until dusk, i am outside in the cold. i take pictures, i sit in the adironack chair studying the trees and the sky, i sip steaming tomato soup from a big cup. i doze, lulled by the quiet of late november. and i finish the task of cutting back the dead stems, studying each empty seed pod and flower head, and marveling at the new growth on many of the plants, the promise of spring on this blustery late fall afternoon.
