I awoke to the silence and purity of a foot of new snow.  My rubber boots crunched and sank as I made my way across the white expanse to the garden to let the chickens out for the day.   One of them plopped into the snow and then ran back into the dry space of the coop.   She was a ‘spring chicken’ and has never seen anything but dirt.

I grew up in Southern California and in the 19 years I’ve lived here in the foothills, I never get over the marvel of the changing seasons.  We just finished harvesting, sharing and selling apples and figs and putting the garden to rest for the long winter.  Now the trees are covered in white cloaks, their trunks stark gray and bare in contrast.  It looks like Christmas and I’m amazed and grateful.  Now if the pipes can just not freeze tonight when it’s supposed to get down to 19 degrees…

The chickens are not sure what to make of the fluffy white stuff...

the apple orchard wearing her white winter cloak

winter has arrived