A New Year

It's a good thing that there are lambs to look forward to during the next few months. The year ended and a new one has begun with some sad news here on the farmette, and so ringing in 2011 has not felt as joyous as I would have liked. But, such is life.
I could post a picture of the ultrasound, the only proof that really exists right now. It shows a mass, about 5 cm in size. Positioned in a place where removal is not a possibility. The suspended reality of these days is exhausting, and yet life must go on. And, it does.

Beate and Me, April 2010

We took in the first sunrise of 2011 at Goose Rocks Beach yesterday morning, and it was a beautiful way to bring in the year. And the day. Later on, we went to get a load of hay and some fresh eggs and enjoyed some of Katrin's  delicious hot chocolate with real whipped cream at Larry's house. Dogs and sheep and cows and goats of all ages at that little farm, and sitting around with steaming chocolate and people who share an understanding for the importance of animals in our lives somehow managed to ease some of the pain that has come with the news of Beate's illness. Being with a huge room full of people who adored Rick Folsom, my esteemed colleague who died the day after Christmas, helped to ease that pain, too. Slightly.
And, so while the new year has already brought challenges and pain, it is because of years past - some full of equally sad times - that I know it'll all be okay eventually, again. Time will not fly when I need it to. But so it goes.
Winter is a good time to get quiet and listen to the gentle rhythms of life. And death. It is dark and cold, yet beautiful in its frozen way. Listening to the dog, listening for the lambs. The shepherd sleeps lightly in times like these, just like in the folk tales.