The wind that roared through here the past few days has shivered my bones and rattled the still-clinging birch leaves against the branches. The sound of dried leaves against branches sounds like scratching, a sound I expect to hear in November, not January. But this year the birch leaves have refused to drop, and in a snowy, winter forest the sound seems especially eerie. The wind has finally calmed now, and though the weather it still cool, it now feels balmy in comparison.
Last evening, it was overcast and I stepped outside without a jacket, though protected by hat, gloves and a warm sweater. For a few minutes that was even comfortable. I searched the sky for the full moon, but all I found was a large, slightly glowing area iverhead that was about the width of 10 full moons. Try as I might, I couldn't locate the spot where the glow was brightest, though I knew the moon was in there someplace.
By this morning, the clouds have disappeared, leaving clear skies and dropping temperatures. The moon was perfectly visible as it slid towards moonset in the west. I was struck by the cold blueness of the moon and the warm yellow of the porch light. And yet both looked inviting to me, though I can only reach the one.