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But now, while the dreams of neighbors swirl out of their chimneys like smoke, I step outside and turn my face to the moon.  

Soon, Tonka turned into Togo as our boots crunched through the iced over snow, like spoons dipping into creme brulee.  He was thrilled when he found sections that he could walk over without breaking through and we pretended it was the Alaskan sound and we needed to make it to the other side before the rushing water broke out from underneath us. 

What a rare thing to witness the natural world not in its normal constant motion of branches swaying, leaves twirling, grasses bending, birds flitting, a squirrel clinging to the side of a tree, frozen but for its tail quivering with uncertainty.  Even in death the maggots move flesh like swirling currents of a river.  

The worst we feared proved true.  Our crop was infected with the dreaded garlic bloat nematode.

I don't remember the last time I have seen fireflies and it made me realize how much we miss when we are tucked into our houses at night.  I turned off my headlamp and pushed back my hood.  I watched the blinking bugs and listened to the slow patter of raindrops on the tall grasses and leaves of the trees.