when blood is nipped and ways be foul/then nightly sings the staring owl

winter drags on and on in the hinterlands of vermont. march is always a tough month, the last rugged slog before the promise of mud and, finally, spring. this is the toughest march i’ve ever known. people i think of stalwart, stoic, and completely unflappable by anything so unimportant as mere weather are making noises … Continue reading when blood is nipped and ways be foul/then nightly sings the staring owl