Midwinter - Softened
We slipped away for a few days to Maple Hill Farm in Stephentown, New York.
Just the three of us. Beth, myself, and our little French Bulldog, Roxy.
A small midwinter reset in the hills. Snow-covered fields. Red barns. Llamas, miniature donkeys, and chickens moving through the cold as if it were simply another texture of living.
We thought we were going for a change of scenery.
What we found was stillness.
The road curves toward a red barn, snow packed beneath our boots.
The air is thin and honest.
Winter without apology.
The llamas stand like sentries of calm.
Watchful. Unhurried.
As if they understand that this season is not about movement, but about being.
Fence lines disappear into white fields.
Nothing to harvest.
Nothing to fix.
Only space.
Inside the stall, a miniature donkey stands at the threshold of light.
Half shadow. Half snow-glow.
Perfectly content in between.
Chickens huddle against barn boards, feathers fluffed against the cold.
Even they seem to know that rest is a kind of work.
There is something about animals in winter.
They do not resist it.
They wear it.
Two ducks perch quietly on a fence rail, tucked into themselves.
The world feels slower here.
And for a few days, so did we.
Talk soon...
G