Every morning I write a little card to my dad; phones leave him tongue-tied as he searches for his words. Reading you can do more slowly. Here is a card from this hunting season.

Hi Dad,
Yesterday morning the moon was shining in my window so brightly I felt called to my deer stand. So despite a 2 degree wind chill, and the little buck hanging in my garage, I left my rifle in the house and walked out in the dark. Armed only with a camera I sat a while. There is no better place to see the stars. The wind was chilly, so I snuggled back into the balsams farther.
I suppose a person wouldn't really have to do such things. But how else will we learn how very red the pines turn as the light hits the trees? How else will we meet the little birds who took away our sunflower seed offering yesterday? Or take measure of the cranky red squirrels as they emerge from their warm tree cavities and commence their scoldings? Hearken to the gurgle of the raven, the caws of the crows, and the giggling eagles that stop in to be sure they really did polish off the gut pile already. Did you know magpies come in earlier than anyone else, flying in the near dark? That whiskey jacks loves biscuits? I suppose we wouldn't really have to sit until the cold stiffens our shoulders, but how else are we to know the count of chickadees in that troop is 17? It's cold, but not too cold. Not too cold to feed the soul.
Love, Kelly