Snow fell on the farm the morning of November 1st. I brought the kitten outside to show him, holding his midnight-black coat against my chest as the first-ever snowflakes he's ever seen fell on the new mane growing around his neck. He pawed the air a bit, and I held him close, and then brought him inside to the warmth of the fire. If it's snowing, the wood stove is lit.
I can feel the self-isolating tendencies creeping in. I fear this winter is going to be harder than last. I'll avoid drama and hyperbole this morning, but when I say the holidays are hard, and growing harder every year, I mean it.
I am so grateful for the work of this farm and the fight to keep it my home.
May it carry me through.