Winter warmth

The chair being slept in belongs to the dog's owner. The dog obviously doesn't care. You don't need to ask me how I know this. She isn't recuperating from a highly stressful week, but from a play session in the dog run when the temperatures were mild enough to make such activities fun instead of punishment. The only problem was that her toys were buried under several inches of snow and so she had to settle for running in circles as fast as she could and sometimes pretending she was a small, blond moose charging her owner.

Let sleeping dogs ?        © harrington

Today's posting on woodbird reminds me that heating via wood stoves hasn't been relegated to times past. Something else I've been reminded of again this Winter is that the smell of woodsmoke, when I'm outside in the cold, usually makes me feel warmer. I've read that aromas are one of our strongest triggers for memories. I'm not sure whether it's projection or memories or some of each. I remember driftwood fires in the front room fireplace in an old victorian house we once lived in when I was young. The smell of wood smoke, the beautiful hues from the salt in the burning wood, carpet on wooden floors and comfortable chairs to curl up in (like some dogs I know), created a feeling of security and well being that I'm still trying to recapture. I need home and hearth because I'm not as brave and creative as a chickadee that grabs sunflower seeds during a snow flurry, sleeps in a hollow without either fireplace or furnace and keeps warm through the beating of what must be one of the stoutest hearts in the animal kingdom.

chickadee feeding in a snow flurry    © harrington

Nancy McCleery shares her December Notes from a day, I suspect, much like today.

December Notes

By Nancy McCleery 

The backyard is one white sheet

Where we read in the bird tracks

The songs we hear. Delicate

Sparrow, heavier cardinal,

Filigree threads of chickadee.

And wing patterns where one flew

Low, then up and away, gone

To the woods but calling out

Clearly its bright epigrams.

More snow promised for tonight.

The postal van is stalled

In the road again, the mail

Will be late and any good news

Will reach us by hand.

***********************
Thanks for listening. Come again when you can. Rants, raves and reflections served here daily. (Have you noticed there are fewer rants during this season of Peace on Earth?)