Well, I set it up but hadn’t put anything on it until about 2 weeks ago.  My Sunday School class laughed about my request when I told them about it.  And it may seem trivial to you, but this is what I wrote: ” Please, God, return my squirrels.  There are plenty of walnuts to share. Your Baby, Bessie”

Here’s the story behind that request.  We’ve always had plenty of squirrels, both little red ones and grays.  But since coyotes and bobcats have begun to populate the area, our little fuzzy-tailed friends have disappeared from around our house.  The walnuts we left, just in case any returned, are still lying like little black lumps in the snow.

Well, as I sat by the kitchen window, checking my email this morning.  I caught a flicker out of the corner of my eye.  I thought it was a bird and continued what I was doing. Then I saw something scurry across the ground behind the decorated pine on the side of the hill. It’s unusual for a bird to do that, particularly in the winter, so I scanned the sidehill, waiting for movement.  And to my amazement, a squirrel ran up a tree trunk, flicking its little, prayer-answering tail.

So, you know what I’ll be doing when I get off this computer.  Yep. Writing out my prayers and hanging them for all to see.  I have already turned the squirrel prayer request over and written: “1/24/12  Prayer answered.  Thank you LORD!”

Later in the afternoon, I’ll don my winter duds and venture out to have a look around.  Snow transforms everything into  a wide, white canvas where little paws leave swervy trails, and even little tails leave curvy trails. Now that’s tongue twister!

The other day, my sister Nancy and I were remembering, that as children, we were always looking for adventure. Though most were imaginary, they were, nevertheless, times of great fun.  And so, winter represents adventure to me.  The ordinary becomes mysterious, the dull becomes bright, the  drab becomes beautiful.

For example, the cluster of old sumac trees is now outlined in white, wearing a sweater knitted by the famous designer, Winter.  A bird nest way out on one of the highest limbs is holding a small mountain of snow.  It is now a vacation home closed for the winter season.

The little cups on the dried stems of Queen Ann’s Lace are filled to overflowing with white fluff, little mugs of hot chocolate topped with marshmallow.  There is no limit to what the imagination can do.  I could go on and on.

A red-headed woodpecker, wearing his white shawl, just flew by the window and landed on the trunk of the walnut tree.  So easily defying gravity, he races up the trunk, pecking here and there as he goes. Swish, and he’s gone.  Rarely does he venture into my yard, but that’s the thing about winter…miracles happen.

Are we so used to being told what to do that we can’t figure out even the most basic life saving skills? I realize that some of the people had no choice because they were in the most compromised parts of the vessel, but others  were in a state of confusion waiting for a savior.

It made me very aware of the fact that we must prepare our minds and emotions ahead of time for any emergency.  We can’t wait for someone to make our decisions for us because by then it may be too late.  None of my family belonged to the Scouts, but their motto of being prepared sure fits the bill.

We need to go over the ‘what if’s’ in our lives and make some mental plans. Instead of being a victim, we need to be victorious.

On my trip to the bird feeder, I noticed the water from the spring that seeps across the lane had recorded the voice of the wind. Staggered ripples and waves were pushed uphill against the law of gravity and sealed by the freezing temperatures.

Blinding squalls and faint, winter sun are competing for power, shoving each other aside, vying for first place.

The best thing about this kind of weather is that the birds gather at the feeder and put on a show…flitting, flying, fighting.   But this morning, one sassy sparrow is keeping everyone away.  How much can one little bird eat? Should I chase him away or let nature take its course?

The pine wreath on the kitchen door keeps knocking.  At first, I thought someone was at the door, but discovered it was only the wreath, begging for entrance.

We are having leftover, ham potpie for dinner, so I have time to enjoy the wintry day and work on some valentine projects.  Or…get out the seed catalog one more time.  After all, winter only comes to pass.

For the last few nights, before tumbling into bed, I’ve walked from window to window, drinking in the amazing shadows and reflections around the house.  Living out here without streetlights, I get to experience the true beauty of the night illuminated by only  the moon.   Just last evening an eerie light teased me from the trees beyond the garage. After imagining it was a wee folk with a lantern…or a poor, lost soul seeking comfort, I finally decided it was just a reflection of the glorious moon on some broken piece of glass or a scrap of metal.  It’s easy to lose reality in a silver world.

Driving up the lane after an outing on Saturday night, my daughter and I were pleasantly greeted by Orion standing like a warrior in the sky over the garage. He was bravely protecting the chariot moon on its nightly expedition across the black sky.  I may not be able to find all of the constellations, but Orion has become my favorite, being easy to identify with his tiny waist.

My husband “promised” to build a glass tower on the house next summer so that I may sit gazing upward all night if I please.  I know it’s a fantasy, but it’s fun to dream.  Goodnight, Moon.

(an excerpt from The Weavers)

Oh, Moon, how you gleam in the darkness,

Your beams weaving dreams of delight.

Your tapestry’s woven for lovers,

who stroll hand-in-hand through the night.

I like to lie on my back and let the sled take its own course while I watch the sky slide by.  The chickadee questioned my actions from the lilac bush, but I didn’t bother to explain.  How can a little bird that experiences the wonder of flying up, up, up into the blue understand my desire to fly on my plastic wing across the snow?

I went out on the porch to see if any birds were around today, but the ground and feeder are void of any little visitors.  There are still plenty of seeds around, and since the snow is gone, they are out foraging for themselves.  A few crows make their presence known as they fly against the wind on their way over the hill.

The maple is making a low roaring sound  as the branches tremble in the wind. If I close my eyes I can imagine it is a winter storm with the wind blasting snow across the yard.  But my eyes see a far different picture…bright sun, blue sky, wispy clouds, and grass as green as ever.

Winter is taking a holiday, and spring is giving us a preview of things to come. It won’t last long. But we’ll be left with hope. And you know what they say, “Hope springs eternal.”

that fence posts could dress

in capes of the softest ermine?

Then clasped hand-in-hand,

‘midst snowdrifts they stand

edging fields with a raggedy line.

Whoever would guess

that windows could dress

in lace of the rarest design?

White threads, frosty cold,

stitching shapes, crisp and bold,

with icicles sewn in for shine.

Whoever would guess

that winter could dress

all the land with a coat so sublime?

The meadows and lanes

and mountains and plains,

all moments of peace locked in time.

BDMichael

Hurriedly, I dressed warmly and flew out the door.  But by that time, the sky was ocean blue and a silvery, half-moon was already sailing overhead, happily sharing the sky with a golden sun. Since I was already out, though, I decided to wait for the next squall to arrive.

While I waited, I walked all around, visiting places that are usually off-limits to me in the summer due to my snake phobia.  Above the house, I chased out a single turkey that took off with a loud snap of its wings.  Sailing away down the hollow, it looked like a distant pirate ship, black and foreboding, finally disappearing into the tall hemlocks.  The only other creature I came across was a gray mole that went scurrying for safety as I stepped on a pile of old leaves. 

I kept watching the skyline across the creek and far hill for a sign that snow was on its way.  Finally, gray clouds overtook the sun on its journey to the western horizon.  Patiently, I sat on the seat of the old manure spreader and watched the grayness swallow up the blue.  Then the flurries arrived,  and the treetops around me sang their shoo-oo-ing song that rose and fell with the strong wind. The clouds quickly scudded by, and the flurries disappeared. 

I can’t help but be disappointed by the weak snowstorm, but they say there will be more tomorrow.  So, I wait.  I wait for the miracle of snow.  Frozen whiteness from the sky.  Little pieces of nostalgia. Children sledding. Snowmen rising. Red noses and laughter. Cold feet and warm hearts.  It’s all in the snow.  I just have to wait for it. 

Today I went outside with my one-year-old grandson and felt a touch of spring fever on my brow as I noticed how tall and green the grass was.  The tractor would definitely get stuck in the soft ground if I actually tried to mow it, due to all the rain we’ve had. 

My grandson’s daddy had walked him across the field for a visit, and we discovered ants crawling all over the back porch steps. They are confused, too.

The seed catalogs have been arriving daily, filled with wonderful pictures and delicious descriptions.  I’m going to plant a raised bed kitchen garden this year.  My husband is a little slow coming around to the idea, but if I get it started, he’ll finish it (the right way). 

I’ve been getting all the food gathered in for our New Year’s Eve party…saurkraut and pork, hot dogs, meatballs, chicken, and on and on.  We feast and play games and have a terrific time together each year. The children we started with years ago are now adults with grown children of their own.  How time flies!  

We’ve heard a lot about 2012, and now it’s finally on our doorstep.  I pray that common sense will reign around the world as unrest and confusion run rampant.  Many changes are taking place across the globe, and only time will tell if they are good or bad. 

May this be a blessed New Year.  May our nation return to its roots.   And may we all seek God and His leadership.

Growing up in poverty should make me grumble and complain about the Christmas’s that were lean and presents scarce.  There was the Christmas my sister and I pressed our noses against the frosty window, watching Santa enter our neighbor’s house.  He didn’t come to our house, but I don’t remember feeling any jealousy that my friend had a visit from the big man in a red suit.  We were too excited at seeing Santa going about his business, to wonder why he didn’t knock at our door.

Somehow Mom always managed to put together a delicious dinner, the center of our celebration. Holidays were her specialty, and she gloried in our praises as we gobbled down the foods that were rarely served in our home.

She has been gone for many years, but I can still see her hovering over the stove, cheeks red from the steam of the pots and heat of the oven. Her blood ran thick with the Irish spirit, so she and the Christmas Spirit were a perfect match. In the hub-bub of preparation she looked like Mrs. Claus.

Today I am busily making Christmas goodies, wearing Mom’s homemade, blue gingham apron.  Her presence is with me as I roll out the pastry and cut the cookies. I remember with gratitude her hard work in making Christmas a special day for her large family on a shoestring budget.

As I finish this writing, a fine snow is sifting down…a perfect backdrop for my memory. It is 1958. A little woman is bent over the oven door, smiling at a crispy ham.  Voices fill the little house to overflowing and the occasional question rings out…Is it ready yet? She tears off a piece of ham, popping it into her mouth.  “Almost,” she says.  I pack Snow White and her seven dwarfs back into their box to keep them clean and safe. I can hardly believe I have such a wonderful gift, a true sacrifice for my mother. It is a special day, and I know I am loved.

Truly, my heart goes home for Christmas.