Thanksgiving is over, and a very good one it was, spent with family and a friend who has come to seem like part of the family. There was a frenzy of cooking, but as all the leftovers are gone, it seems that we made exactly the right amount of everything. We went to see the terrific movie Lincoln, and unless I’m very much mistaken, it will win the Oscar for best picture.

Now is that in-between time, when we slide from Thanksgiving and move toward Christmas. At our little house in the big woods, the yard is frozen and still, green and brown and frosted, but not covered with snow. The flowers, what’s left of them, are in their November garb.

 The parsley looks more than a little limp, yet it might be usable. Maybe.

Fall chores are winding down. The yard is raked, but there is still some wood to stack.

This afternoon, I’ll be hauling wood. The dog will help me by barking and circling the wheelbarrow, his warm breath almost visible on this chilly day.