This year’s winter solstice arrives on a clear, cold, icy morning. 8:28 a.m. is the magic moment when the sun reached its lowest point in the sky for this year. You would think the earth would shudder and groan at reaching this momentous spot and turning around. And yet, as far as the earth is considered, the solstice is nothing, just an imaginary point in its circle around the sun.

Bushy cattails look out over a frozen pond. Frozen oregano and lavender a winter garden make.

At solstice, King Russel is strutting his goods. With their superb eyesight and innate magnetic sensitivities, I wonder if the chickens sense that today is a special day, and tomorrow will be just a tad longer.

There is something calming about a stack of firewood. Each time I slice through the logs and remove a section of wood, new patterns emerge. It’s like watching Tibetan monks erasing an elaborate Mandala, only in slow motion. Every few days the chainsaw erases patterns and reveals new ones. By late spring, much of the stack will be gone, just a memory.

When does winter start? There is the date on the calendar marking the start of winter, but really, once all the leaves are off the trees, it is winter. By the time swans are waddling over the fields, it is winter. When the sun is low and shadows stretch as far as the eye can see, it is winter.

The seasons don’t follow the calendar. They come when they will, the go when they please. Wait for them to arrive and go when they are officially supposed to, and you’ll miss them at their best.

This year, the swans and snow geese have been remarkable. Every day swans go honking overhead, and ribbons of snow geese paint the sky. I was driving home at dusk after delivering tofu, and it was hard concentrating on the road because flocks of swans kept flying by, just above the tops of the trees, on their way to wherever they were going to bed.

After twenty five days of rain, drizzle, and clouds, and minimal sunlight, this morning’s sky is different. The pink clouds aren’t threatening to pour down rain. There are no puddles in the driveway.

By afternoon, the soft winter sunlight is everywhere. Gilda and Gloria are delighted. All the chickens are happy. The forecast is for more than a week of dry, sunny weather. You can’t ask for more than that in December.