Days such as these last few are rare and sweet indeed. How perfect they were. I treated myself to sleeping in on Friday (which means till 0700 for me). Between Friday and Sunday I have greatly resolved the outline for my new book. Ah, but it was the rest of the time that made those days so wonderful. On Friday and Saturday I shot innumerable arrows with my new recurve on the range. I trimmed Aval’s hooves and managed to cut and hand split a cord worth of firewood. I got some leisure time to get into reading a new novel: “Lord of Mountains” by S. M. Stirling. But today . . . today was so perfect. The clouds broke and the welkin transformed into a marvelous, welcomed cerulean. Daphne and I bottled gallons and gallons of Pinot Noir and elderberry wine–and I must add, the elderberry is fine, indeed! The flavor is delicate, off-dry, and full of forest and brook and faerie mischief. And come the gloaming, I saddled Aval and we went for a ride down beyond the Rusalka Brook. On the far side of the hollow we ascended the path to a grassy ledge, and there Aval grazed while I sat in the saddle, leaning against its horn and watched the play of the last burned-gold light over forest and the fanning brook. We trotted briskly back to the cottage beneath a spray of stars, the entire way serenaded by the cascading Hollow Brook. And now Daphne is making poutine with thick brown gravy, sharp cheese and bits of venison. How much more perfect can life be?
Perfect December Day!