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What a winter it has been.  Much like everywhere else we've had more snow, more wind, more sub-zero temperatures.  The girls... well they pretty much take everything in stride... as long as the hay arrives in a timely manner.  And the snow, well it does make for pretty picture taking.

{this moment}

A Friday ritual.

A single photo - no words - capturing a single moment from the week

A simple, special extraordinary moment.
A moment to pause, savor and remember.
Participating with the SouleMama blog

Weekly Top Shot

Maibh ~ making her way to the hay ~ just another snowy morning in the pasture.

joining The View From Right Here for Weekly Top Shot

{this moment}

A Friday ritual.

A single photo - no words - capturing a single moment from the week

A simple, special extraordinary moment.

A moment to pause, savor and remember.

Participating with the SouleMama blog

solstice to solstice :: quiet

response for week 11 of the solstice to solstice project
with urban.prairie.forest.
flickr pool

solstice to solstice :: stillness

response to week five of the solstice to solstice project at urban.prairie.forest.

a fifty-two week project focused on the seasons - one word at a time
flickr pool: the solstice to solstice project

The Weekend

After Friday's bitter winter storm, Saturday was very much like living inside of a snowglobe.  The high winds had ceased and the snow continued, falling gently... leaving everything looking like the winter wonderland it should be in January.

Although bitterly cold on Sunday, everyone seemed to be enjoying the winter weather.  The deer came up out of the hollow and were grazing on the knoll most of the afternoon.  And Bella despite having two shelters and a dog house at her disposal, chose to sleep out on the side of the hill under the goat tree. 

Sunday Muse

Snowflakes

Out of the bosom of the Air.
Out of the cloud-folds of her garments shaken,
Over the woodlands brown and bare,
Over the harvest-fields forsaken,
Silent and soft and slow
Descends the snow.

Even as our cloudy fancies take
Suddenly shape in some divine expression,
Even as the troubled heart doth make
In the white countenance confession,
The troubled sky reveals
The grief it feels

This is the poem of the air,
Slowly in silent syllables recorded;
This is the secret of despair,
Long in its cloudy bosom hoarded,
Now whispered and revealed
To wood and field.

by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Snow flurries

We have had some pretty frosty mornings recently, but we still weren't quite prepared for the snow flurries and dusting of snow on the ground early this morning. The next couple days call for 1 - 3 inches of snow accumulation each day.