I have seen forty nine winters as of this writing. Many of the folks who have taught me, inspired me, made me laugh, are no longer here. Winter is the culling time. Nature makes room for the new-borne of spring through the winter months. For those of us looking forward, it is often difficult to see through those long winter nights enough to know whether or not we’ll see the sunrise of Spring. Without much choice, we not only preserver, we do so with the will of a warrior and the mind of a craftsmen. If these be our last days, lets fill them with rich reward for those who go after us. Let us savor the chill of the frosty morning air in defiance and hone our craft as an example to unweathered hands and easily bruised hearts. It is winter that gives us our wisdom and infuses in us the sacredness of warm summer nights. As we step through winters threshhold we do so with grace, dignity and resolve. If it be that this is our last winter, we shall leave it better than we found it. If it is to pass that we savor the sweet song of the Hermit Thrush yet again, than we too, shall celebrate like the Phoenix rising out of the ashes.
String your bows, folks, Winter is upon us. Follow tracks, hunt stumps, restring snow shoes, and mind the firewood as we have stories to share around the fire. Time is a worthy adversary, and winter is it’s henchman. You can’t beat it, you can’t out run it, but you can embrace it. So embrace it and dance!