One boot on deck left hand on door for balance, now two boots – so far, not slippidy. Had been waking since 3 thinking about freezing rain predicted. A smell I can’t place, almost like skunk. Do they hibernate? Are they awake? Ice under my hand in spots on railing as I walk ramp holding on should boots encounter ice. Salted sand in plastic bucket like cement, a shovel breaks it to spread over frozen snow where the three will roam in a few minutes. Far, far away, if a car had passed, I would not have heard that rooster. One morning, there will be song birds. One morning the stream will be seen.

     Not wide-eyed at four, I let the three outside inside. We all returned to our blankets to sleep, to wakefulness, to prayers. No frost patterned anything. No snow is falling. A few icicles emerge from the space between roof and rain gutter, spider hiding places. I left nothing on deck to shelter a fishing spider like the one that twice startled me finding a way under the black hot tub cover. I don’t pick up spiders, especially those that would cover the palm of my hand, don’t kill them. I don’t leave them alone either. I retrieve the small battery-powered leaf blower from the kitchen.

     The giants pushed through their barrier to join Ruger pacing waiting for me to emerge from my bed, waiting for me to open the portal where Zsolt already stood trying to part the curtains; Zayne bouncing all four feet off the floor, excitedly describing the adventure. Red sky warning, frost makes things unclear. In the distance, sound I can't decipher... Geese? Crying? Howling? One hour of snow forecast for tomorrow, now four.

     Snow falling at 0200, began before last call. Three hours later I prepare a path for the three. Dryer than the last snow, too dense to easily sweep. Sky turns from dark night to pale blue with clouds, settles into silver with a brief golden light looking like a painting of snow laden branches at sunrise.

     No sign of orange, Soleil arrives arrayed in buttery yellow; she’s halfway through my bookshelves stopping at Jack London. She never ventures as far as symbolism, dream theory, poetry on the far wall. I stand behind glass as the three run down the ramp, portal closed opening closing again as each comes in. No biscuits are given until all 3 are in the kitchen.

     Camera aimed in the direction of light, couldn’t see through Polaroid glasses exactly what I was shooting. ‘Have always been told not to look directly at the sun or lasers. Blue skies, tree shadows falling straight across snow following geography over boulders, through fences. Sun peeks between trunks. Into scraped out, melted, frozen, slippidy places where the three walk, I toss shovelfuls of crusted snow something for feet to hold onto.

     Thin line of orange rims horizon, pavement visible in the drive, boards of deck of ramp free of winter coatings. Without glue, frost adheres to windshields, ball inside wind chime; not trees not house windows. A crow too far away to see sends its voice to me. Clouds that last night played hide and seek with Luna swirl behind trees. On what course are birds migrating?

     Skies gray silk, frost obscures car windows, designs no art on wooden railing. Yesterday, the moon seen at 1627 as if resting in tree branches waiting for leaves.

     Almost a clear night, a piece of moon, satellites, stars may have come alive in a photo if I had taken one, then as I leaned on the fence I noticed a ring around the moon, a perfect circle outrageous in diameter. Missed sunrise sleeping when I should’ve been dressing, waking when I should’ve been sleeping.

     No orange rims horizon as I begin writing. Looking higher blue sky, strips of clouds frayed like old cotton shirt worn too many times. Snow vanished from tomorrow’s forecast. I do not mind. Crow unseen, voice coming closer.

     Orange between the darkness of trees and the bruise above faded into gray without revealing sun. Yard shrinking, Chris moved mounds of snow shaking the mechanical bucket empty into other places. Snow compacted, a carpet for the deck, the ramp.

     Snowflakes appear but don’t flash on the weather monitor. An anemometer would let me know how fast the wind still blows cold. (Something to add to the wish list.) Driveway camera catches random snowflakes, like frantic bugs diving towards light in summer. Snowfall, tomorrow’s forecast to add another one to three inches. Orange like fire on horizon.