Spring abounds at the little house in the big woods. Ferns are unfurling, and violets and bluets have begun dotting the lawn.

In the sun, budding leaves glow like little lanterns, lighting the way for the delightful month.

My gardens are late gardens, coming into their own in July. So far, the only blooms are pink hyacinths. But the foliage of the growing plants is lush, green, and healthy, a good way to start the season.

A couple of days ago, the evening was so warm and free of blackflies—thank you, little breeze—that Clif and I had drinks on the patio. Birds called as they fluttered from the trees to the feeders, and we had the usual suspects—goldfinches, chickadees, nuthatches, woodpeckers, cardinals, and tufted titmice.

Uncharacteristically, Liam—no rodent dog—was on red squirrel patrol, and he had positioned himself under one of their favorite trees. Recently, Liam had had what might be called a little tête à tête with a red squirrel, and since then he has been obsessed with them.  Well, it gives the old dog something to think about, and he does them no harm. In true herding dog fashion, Liam trots after the red squirrels and stares at them, and I have not seen him snap or bite at them.

Soon, the blackflies will be gone, and good riddance to them. Weather permitting, we will be able to have our supper on the patio most evenings. We will be planning grilled bread and salad gatherings with our friends. In Maine, the time of warm weather is short, and Clif and I want to squeeze in as much as we can.

Yesterday, Clif, Liam, and I went for a walk in the woods behind the high school. It was late afternoon, almost dusk. The setting sun sent slanting rays through the woods, but the shadows were deep enough to give everything a blue cast.

The little stream runs so fast that it only has a skim of ice. I like the heart-shaped cap of snow on the rock, and I might use this photo for a Valentine’s card.

The stones in the wall also have caps of snow, albeit none that look like hearts.

The brook is slower moving than the stream, and while it isn’t completely frozen, it has enough ice on it to muffle the sound of the moving water. Will it get cold enough this winter so that the brook freezes entirely?

When the wind blows through the woods, leaves and branches fall, making natural arrangements.

The trail twists through the woods until we come to another section of the stone wall. I was taken by this striated rock with snow.

When we came out of the woods, there was the almost-full moon—the Wolf Moon—rising by the school.

On Sunday, the moon will be full. If the night is clear and the night isn’t too cold, Clif, Liam, and I might take a walk in the woods and honor the moon.

This year, January has been such a variable month. On Monday, when I went to a library meeting, I was dazzled by the night sky. It was just past dusk, shading into night with a sapphire blue horizon.  Into that beautiful blue came the rising moon, a glimmering sliver, a slice of brilliance.

On Tuesday, knowing that a snowstorm was coming, Clif and I (and Liam!) took to the woods, where the ground was nearly bare. There were patches of ice on the trail, which meant we still had to walk carefully. To borrow from Paul Simon, the sky was a hazy shade of winter. When we got to the brook, we found that ice had been thrown this way and that, just perfect for taking photographs, some of which were featured in this week’s Wordless Wednesday.  While I was taking pictures by the brook, I heard a mighty crash.

“What’s that?” I asked, whirling around.

“Liam fell through the ice, but he’s all right,” Clif answered.

Already on the shore, Liam was shaking his back legs. This confirmed one of my worries about Liam and winter ice—his basic unawareness of thin ice. When we have walked by the Narrows, where the water is deep, I have watched him carefully, only letting him on the ice when it was completely frozen. With the brook, there are no worries. The water is shallow, and the current is gentle. Still, this was a reminder that my concern is genuine.

We came home and had fresh homemade bread and leftover red bean soup. While we ate, it snowed outside, and before I went to bed, I turned on the porch light. “A nice little snowstorm,” I thought, seeing several inches on the porch.

On Wednesday, we woke up to find that about six inches of perfect, light, fluffy snow had fallen. This, of course, meant clean-up, with Clif on Little Green, me with the shovel, and Liam to leap, bark, and supervise.

Somehow, January is never long for me. I don’t mind the cold, and I don’t mind the snow, as long as it’s not heavy, and we don’t get more than a foot with any one storm. I suppose it’s because I was born in central Maine, and I have lived here for most of my fifty-eight years. To me, snow and cold are a normal part of life.

Then there is the beautiful winter light, which my small camera cannot always capture. Brilliant during the day, deep and mysterious at nightfall, this light makes January a month to look forward to.