Dawn finds the first snow — a faint dusting. It’s very still. Down in the pines, a screech owl quavers. The slow footfalls of a deer.
From 6:00 to 6:30, it’s quiet except for the distant whine of truck tires and the wind in the treetops, more rattle than rustle now.
Wind and rain have stripped the birches and maples at the edge of the woods. A gray squirrel leaps through the bare branches.
Venus and the fourth-quarter moon stand close together, shining through the treetops as I drink my coffee.