Sunday, December 8, 2013


I heard a bird sing
In the dark of December.
A magical thing
And sweet to remember.

"We are nearer to Spring 
Than we were in September,” 
I heard a bird sing 
In the dark of December.
Oliver Herford (1863 - 1935)

The days are shorter and tend to gray.

The sun was up there, though shrouded by an opaque veil.

Every now and then peeking out, but then disappearing again.

By four-thirty in the afternoon it may as well have been night.

It is, after all, December.

There is snow somewhere out there, biding it's time.

December marches on, winter approaches.

Sleep now, but don't despair. Spring will come again.

It always has.

It always will.

For now I will enjoy this time.

Without winter, how would we know spring?


  1. This reminds me of our last year in Indiana. It was a particularly bad winter with ice storms making our trees sound like gunfire with the breaking limbs, and the transformers sounding like explosions. Generator wires snaking through the house and no sunshine for weeks. But you know what? I miss it. It's where my roots were for 60 years.

    1. That was a bad winter.

      I know what you mean about missing it though. After 2 and a half years on Okinawa (semi-tropical) I was happy to see snow in Korea after I transferred there. But there is such a thing as too much, like this.

  2. Without winter, how would we know spring?

    Ooooh... try me. Me! ME!

    1. Pssst, Buck. Didn't they teach you never volunteer back in the day?

      (But I do know where you're coming from!)


Just be polite... that's all I ask. (For Buck)
Can't be nice, go somewhere else...

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