The winter pasture is somber, lonely, timeless. It is not subject to the change, connection, frenzy and obsession with money and fear that grips so much of the world around it. It is patient, waiting for Spring after Spring. It is not busy every minute, used every second.  It is beyond technology and texting. It has its time, and waits its time. I love walking the winter pasture, until my fingers ache, because it seems to be waiting for me.