It is dark. Darker than you could ever imagine. The lack of street lights makes that an obvious state. At times it is quieter than you could ever imagine as well. The stillness can feel as if you are the only one on the face of the earth. But tonight it is the sound of ghosts and monsters lashing at the trees. The sound of the ocean trying to claim the ship. It is a wonder that the children can sleep through it. I checked to make sure I had the bottles for the midnight feedings and the howling was of wolves at the window. I had opened the window yesterday to ask Adventure Man a question as he left and had forgotten to latch it. The wind grabs the edges of the pains and pulls. It whistles when it can and this is it's favorite game. It is alive and far beyond the playful wind who pulls down laundry from the line or knocks over lawn chairs. This wind is mean. It makes work for us. It pulled the rack that holds the pool cover out of the cement. It pushes cars from the road. This wind would strip the forest of it's leaves. It has. Just a few days after our parents were here enjoying the autumn brilliance the color was gone. In one night it was swept from the trees and the forest floors. Where did it go? In it's place was winter's gray in the distance. The Witch's forest.
Each morning I think I will wake to winter's glory, but if he makes an effort it is only to remind us of his chill and annoyance by icing over the cars. There is a powdered sugar dusting over the high mountains. This has brought the deer to our door. They watch me through the window as I watch them. They stand alert and watchful. A wise practice during hunting season. We tossed our Jack-O-Lanterns over the fence to the field and smashed them for the deer. We watch them kick and fight over them. They remind me of my children when they are naughty. But it is the mother's who fight and the little yearlings who eat. What example are we demonstrating for our little ones. As I think on these thoughts I am grateful not to be scrounging for my families food. What would it have been like to be an early settler here in this harsh land? How did they survive the winter?
The wild still whips the sides of our sturdy home. It tries to wake the children, it tries to get in. It tosses the windchime. Trying to sound scary. Trying to make afraid. Now it roars with frustration and the house shutters. It only succeeds in lulling me to sleep. My eyes grow heavy.