There was an awful beauty at the farm this morning. The wind was whipping across the pasture, rattling the windows in our house, the barn was groaning and creaking like an old ship. I loved life very much at this moment, even though my fingers ached, my nose was runny, my toes screamed out in protest. It was a deep cold, fueled by the relentless wind of a Northeast storm not worthy of getting its own name, so no big money for the cable channels. Maria was brushing and brushing Rocky, she calls him “My Little Pony,” and I suggested she stop, but she couldn’t. Red came over, as always and stood by. Somehow, he is always there, part of the moment but never interfering with it. Dogs at work. Dogs as companions. Dogs as spirit guides.

Red is Rocky’s pal, his eyes sometimes. I loved this morning. The wind was brutal and, head bowed and swathed in scarves, I hauled water out to the sheep, out to the pole barn. The sheep pay no mind to the wind, they simply find a low spot and gather together.

A good friend told me I was much engaged in life, and that made me happy and proud.

Have I told you how much I love life?

Even when it is sad and disappointing?

Even when angry and damaged people wound?

It is so good to be alive. To have things to love. To have decisions to make. To have choices that matter, beliefs that are strong, beliefs that endure.

It is so wonderful to have idea at sail out into the ether, like small sailing ships, bobbing and weaving over the mountainous waves of  life. Sometimes they perish out there, sometimes they make their way back, sometimes they return with other ideas in tow, sparks flying, wheels turning,  a glorious mixing of open minds.

Life is such a gift. I give thanks for it every minute of every day.