Cold Nights

The wind blew in late autumn last night. We could here it beating the trees against each other and making the stars brighter against the cold sky.  The chickens fluffed up their feathers and slept close. The whole yard smelled of woodsmoke. We nestled in, with candles all around as the stove radiated comfort, dancing Yarrow to sleep with Gotan Project and Bruce Springsteen. The night was lovely.

Tonight will be colder, I can feel it already. We came in to town today for more candles, kerosene for the lamps and to sip tea among people. I fell into a conversation with three, angry older folks. The want the protestors to become violent, they want riots and punishments for lawyers and wealthy men. The sky seemed grayer when they left. But Yarrow nestled in, clutching her scarf a little closer, while the folks behind the counter laughed and talked of Halloween, coffee, and quiche; normal returned, and I tried to love the angry ones. I suppose its easy to want violence from armchairs in cozy cafes, harder to want it when you are faced with another person.

The cabbage is almost ready to pick. Chard is a coninual blessing, still growing. The beets can come out anytime, I'm storing them in the ground until I get an opportunity to make borsch. Home is cozy, Yarrow's nameday on Friday is an exciting anticipation.