Serenity

Walking the Acres at the onset of December there is a sense of serenity about the place.  All is at rest.  The Sentinel still stands unaffected by any season.  Every year at least one huge limb comes crashing down so its gnarlyness is slowly decreasing.  But it is still impressive and fearless in its slow decline to the way of the world.  The bees at the top are silent and retired for the year.  I'm sure if I could fly to the top of the tree, I could hear a low hum resonating in the tree, but being wingless, I can only imagine.  I can, I suppose, hum and sing as I walk.  Actually, as a crazy old man, I do that anyway; I'll just pretend I'm talking to the bees.  They won't hear me, so I won't face any musical harmonic criticism from the experts.
I love to sit on the bench by the pond this time of year.  The rains of autumn have refilled the pond.  The muskrat has moved back in for the winter.  Maybe it's a mink.  I really don't know.  The only evidence is the hole it has dug near the flower garden by the pond.  (Last year, that produced a tragedy as the outlaws in an attempt to catch the creature dug up the garden.  I hope that doesn't happen again this year.  It would not add to the serenity.)  There are slivers of ice on the surface of the pond some mornings as winter sends notice that it is on the way.  Some mornings there is a mist rising from the water reminiscent of the old tarns mentioned in an old Poe story or two. (Think "The Fall of the House of Usher.")    But it is not a haunting feeling here at the Acres.  Only peace and serenity are allowed under the watchful eye of the Sentinel.
The only obvious activity this time of year is near the house.  Those pesky squirrels are up early gathering walnuts and hickory nuts--and probably a tulip bud or two.  They run for the thickets when I come near.  They have learned that there is no safety in the branches of the trees.  I'll bet that if I could walk through the thickets in spring, I would find a transplanted tulip or two gracing the wildness.  I can live with that imagining.  A small kudos to the varmints.  The other busy-bodies by the house are the birds at Mom's window feeder.  Coming and going, coming and going are the chickadees, titmice, woodpeckers, and nuthatches.  The goldfinch, Cardinals, siskins, and purple finches sit and munch.  The field sparrows, song sparrows, chipping sparrows, and snowbirds scour the patio for "crumbs."  There must be some.  They keep coming back.  On colder days when I'm sure the chipmunks are staying in, I'll even throw a little on the ground for the scourers.  Mom enjoys watching them, but her memory is such that she has at times forgotten their names.  She used to know them all by heart, but sometimes as we grow older, I guess the mind trumps the heart.  Not that I mind reminding her of who the visitors are.  Repeating the words "chickadee," "nuthatch," "snowbird," is not a tedious exercise in the least.  Musical words if you say them right.  Hum them if you can! The Homesteader, by the way, enjoys spending the mornings with Mom, basking in the sun, tail moving back and forth imagining how much fun it would be to get back outside and chase the winged company.  (For those who just know me here on the blog, the Homesteader is now a permanent member of the household.  I should change her name to "Boss."  Yes, I am a soft touch.)  The activity of the birds, believe it or not, adds to the serenity of the place.  Movement can be beautiful--a dance of the birds is such a beauty.
As I walk through the stand of trees and then through the back meadow and wild area, all is quiet.  The only raucous color is green.  The wind is still there.  On the windiest days the neighbor's pines hum.  Otherwise all is silent, serene.  There are plenty of signs of deer, but I have not seen them.  I imagine they are checking me out from the safety of the brush or the pine forest.  Camouflaged, they feel secure hiding in plane sight.  With no leaves I can see through everything; and yet, no doubt, miss many things.  I do not mind.  Often, I just sit on the green throne, bask in the grey skies, imbibe the quietness, embrace the breeze, find serenity in the pastoral splendor of my neighbor's goats and alpaca grazing serenely next door.
Yes, the Acres are at rest.  And I enjoy participating in the wonder.