Morning mists turn into sunny days, cold and crisp.  We don the scarves and mitts and venture out with cold air rushing down our noses to our throats.  We are getting those frosts needed for the crops, the closing down of life and hibernation for a few months.  During winter it seems quieter outside.  Less birds around, less wildlife, more silence and sleep.  When snow comes it makes a quiet day more muffled.  Since snow is predicted this year, I will rummage in the barns for the large plastic disks that slide over the snow, to sit in and be pulled with rope behind a quad bike over these fields. Maybe ask for a toboggan instead, hubby can build me one.  But the tray-type disk slides well and I can swing round, like a wave ski-er and accelerate as he turns the bike slightly.  Then I arc madly.  Laughing madly.  Echoing through the hills.  When I look now at those fields I picture the snow and the snow angels I can make.  When I lie in that snow and look up, I have no idea how old I am.  In that moment I feel I reflect all of time, am all of life and know All is Well.