Day 8, Wednesday, March 5

morning sit today. sleet.

Little Red Squirrel and i suprised each other as i stepped outside. it scampered away across the field from beneath our sunflower feeder, leaving the holes it had dug, shells extruded and spread about. Big Gray Squirrel had visited our porch earlier today, taking refuge in the apple tree when it saw me come to the window.

went out to my pine. found squirrel tracks leading from its base to another, followed them for a bit. a half inch of sleet over crusted snow holds sharp tracks. returned to my pine and sat.

sleet sprinkled all around me, bouncing off the flattened collar of my jacket. on the crest of a nearby snow mound, silhouetted by the dark trees beyond it, i could see the snow leaping up in miniature splashes with each grain of sleet that struck, a swarm of minnows breaking the surface of white water.

the sleet slowly collected in the creases of my sleeves, my snowpants, my gaiters. i felt myself a mountain, a boulder, in whose valleys the snow collects, each crevice telling the story of the snow after it has passed. my crossed legs formed caves and overhangs for small creatures to shelter in.

crow called, lord of the forest for that half hour.

sleet. louder from the little forest behind me than on the field of snow. popping of sleet on brambles, snagged leaves, bare bushes drowned out the steady crackle on the exposed field.

then it fell heavier, a roar of ice spraying and coating everything and me.

thought about this log, what pleasure there is in knowing that even one person will read it; the satisfaction of sharing my experience and having someone else receive it. how we hunger to be heard, to share our world with others.

now my son sleeps across my belly, my hair clenched in his little fist to hold me in place, to keep me holding him. our friends call to say their babe has been born and is well. joyous day.