December 5, 2007
With the longest night fast approaching, Alphie and I are out walking as the day awakens; we move through a very quiet Sanctuary with just the red-tailed hawk starting up out of the cedars in the forest as we come past. Then, down by the big cottonwood, the owl usually leaves its perch with reluctance, and perhaps we might see a cottontail rabbit or two, but that is it. We get back to the house before the sun lifts past the horizon so we are out during that time when the night creatures have gone back into hiding and the day creatures are still asleep.
Later in the morning, the front yard becomes the center of activity as birds, rabbits and squirrels vie for food. I have many feeding stations so everyone will get a chance to eat. Unfortunately, the squirrels have read this as a signal to proliferate and take over; this AM there were nine of them. There are many funny stories about people who take up arms against the squirrels and attempt to keep them from bird feeders – and even knowing better, I have now purchased several devices guaranteed to outwit these voracious eaters. The latest is a pan with a grid over it which supposedly invites beaks only – I sat at breakfast bemoaning the sight of an overweight interloper scooping up the seeds as it sat in the middle of the feeder with a half dozen cardinals perched in the branches around it hopefully awaiting their turn. Charles said that I could always get a BB gun and shoot at the squirrels out of the window. (He knows that I would never resort to such tactics, but also that my dear departed father would be sitting there gleefully blasting away with not only a BB gun, but likely a rifle or a shotgun, blowing everything to kingdom come, including the feeders. Admittedly, there is a just a bit of my genetic tracking that does find that attractive.)
“Cold December flies away. . . ” says the hymn, and it is true, perhaps because there is an implied sense of urgency given by the merchants that one must hurry, hurry to acquire all things necessary to properly celebrate Christmas. So far, I have done little more than watch Charles bring in poinsettias and orchids and place them in their holiday configurations. I have gotten some catalogue shopping completed, and my mind has completed the Christmas letter, hosted some grand parties, and baked and decorated good things to eat while my body sits comfortably in the sun. The songs and words of Advent fill the spaces where cards, cookies, soirees, and children’s program preparations used to frantically vie for ascendency. I feel reasonably well and contemplate the coming of Christ and other miracles. . . past, present, and those yet to come.