Disconnected

A sure sign of winter for me is the moment after sunset when there is still light to see but it’s all indirect. In that moment, the landscape is nearly colorless. The grass is brown and the green trees dull. Everything seems lifeless and you know the cold is coming. I had that moment last night as I sat in my front room and looked out at the pasture just beyond my fence.

But it was only a harbinger of things to come because this morning I saw fresh leaves on the mesquite and shoots of grass in the yard, all thanks to the previous day’s hard rain. Other plants had greened up as well in one last celebration before the first of the truly winter weather arrives this week, although we have yet to see a frost and I doubt we get one this time. That will probably have to wait until November.

There were years in my youth when the coming cold days would be spent outside waiting for game to walk by or fly in. But those days are long gone. Now I hunt in the aisles for packaged meat killed by strangers. At least I know how it got there and what had to happen before it did. I think most people are understandably blind to the process. The seasons are recreational guides rather than a time for hunting, planting, and ultimately gathering. We are on this earth, but few are of the earth, and unfortunately I think we’ve largely forgotten how to take care of it.