It’s been uncommon cold these last few days, and the sun barely peeks his head above the earth before it’s night. Long rays slant in from the south, lighting everything from the sides with a ruddy twilight splendor. There is a certain tragedy to the most ordinary of things now. An oak tree standing alone in the middle of a field, leafless except for a few spheres of mistletoe, reveals its tired bones. An old barn nestles in the arms of a valley. Even the bright long lines of our impetuous civilization point uncertainly now: the graceful bridges across the bay are made of nothing more than desire and light, what they have always been, but these days it’s less certain whether they still lead to San Francisco and not to some far stranger place.

Perhaps it is some other place: the sidewalks are crowded with people, who at last have put on those beautiful dark long coats and scarves. But we’re a grouchy bunch out here, come this time of year. It’s not just the long lines, the rubes from Hayward, and the frenetic materialism. The dark and the cold sting our Californian pride. We find that we have to admit the existence of Nature, yield to it, and I don’t think I’ve heard one person out here say anything nice about the cold.

Winter is a little death, like love and parting. I don’t know that we’ve ever really been taught how to face death. In movies and on the television it can always be fought, avoided, run from, or laughed at. War is a moral abstraction, a yes or a no. Nature is more or less tamed. The lights are almost always plugged in, ready to scare away the night and cold.

In this last month before winter, while the sun is in Saggitarius, there is nothing wrong with a little quietness. “I see”, that’s what the hunter says, sighting his prey. There, before the last low boat heaves into view, sitting on the shore, would you not find every moment precious? Long to see every leaf as it is, before it passes away, to let no time pass by unnoticed?

Tom and I reorganized the house, moving the dining table into the living room and making the dining room a cozy little den. We trekked out to Brentwood for a load of firewood. December is a good month for parties – we’ll chase away the night with food and wine and music…