It’s twilight time.


It’s quiet now. There is no snow to move nor grass to cut. When
people had no electricity, they slept more hours and called the time
of restlessness before awakening twilight. That’s were we are now,

We all move during the winter; we shovel snow, drive to work, attend
social occasions and maintenance our daily life-yet we are like the
waking drowsy. Winter seems to me a time of sleep; the ground is
frozen and sleeping, animals hibernate and trees stop growing. The
human version of this occurs as
we bunker down in our houses to endure the cold and tribulation. I
think this time may be important to northerners even if it is just
something to which we’ve become accustomed. We move through these
dreamy times on a perpetual snooze button, in the dark much of the
time, through a world covered in a white blanket of snow. We awake
only in times when the weather becomes such that we can face it without the
morphine of our own sleepy indifference.

Twilight is the time when we occupy the no mans lands of rest. We
neither sleep nor wake. I find it an unwelcome time when I am too
hungry to sleep and too sleepy to move. This past fourth season has
been like one long twilight-too warm to hibernate and too cold to do
what must be done this spring. I cannot tell whether I should sit on
the couch and read the Rivard Seed catalog or if I should be outside
sharpening the blades on our lawnmower. It has been an unnerving
winter in that I keep waiting for the cold hammer to drop and it
really has not yet. Perhaps it is why horror movies often use
twilight as a backdrop for the most unsettling scenes; it is a time
we find most unfamiliar and unpredictable.

I can see dawn from where I awake. If I can shuffle enough cats from
beside and on top of me I can even lift the window shade enough to
see sunshine light the first appearance of the day. I have smelled
the beet pulp leftover from last fall as it warms in the newly
strengthened sun-so can the cattle. I can have hope for green to
replace white and for the smell of my own sun-baked skin as it
replaces inches of blanketed car hart coveralls. I can consider the
new cattle that will arrive soon to cover our little farm. It is a
time when seasonal twilight sees its death and the birth of a new

More deer and turkeys survived the winter because of its lack of
ferocity. I don’t know if it’s the weather or lazy coyotes but we
actually have a few rabbits on the rabbit trail. Spring tugs hard on
the cloak of winter and we can now see what is in our future. It all
happens, in twilight time.

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