Early morning Feb 7, 2010

I am awakened by a sound outside my window. It’s 4 am. Off to investigate.

The sky is clear and brilliant with stars. I wrap a blanket around me, open the door to a whoosh of cold air, and venture out onto the deck. A shooting star! And another! And another! Annie, wake up! Wake up!

We sit together on the yellow butterfly chairs, cocooned in our comforters, our bare feet curled up under us. An owl hoots as the crescent moon emerges from the cypress trees that line the road behind us. A second owl, off to the north, responds with her own “Hooo hooo he-hooo”. Two soloists, echoing across the pasture, and in between the little frogs, still croaking, offering up the basso ostinato.

I see the source of my sleep’s disturbance – the horses like to nestle near our house. Such large creatures, yet so gentle. They come up even closer to visit us.

We linger a little longer, greedy for more shooting stars, but the night sky is fading. Time to drift back to our beds and to sleep. How delightful to slip under warm covers, to savor the night.

Dusk Feb 6, 2010

It is dusk after a week of rain. The pasture is saturated and the swale filled with shining water. The horses seem not to mind their hooves sunk deep in the mire. The lush grass must be tasty.

The sun has dipped behind the undulating Inverness ridge, trading places with the grey balloons of cumulus clouds that push inland, gathering steam to drench us again tomorrow.

The pasture is filled with a new sound.  It is frogs, I think. A croaking chorus. Could it be the little green frogs we find occasionally on the deck? Pacific tree frogs, little divas of the winter night. Perhaps tomorrow morning, when the sun rises, I will hear them again and be sure to spy upon them. Each time I am here, a new wonder.