The long cold drives inward into shelter, into the body, into limits of strength and time. But of darkness day comes. The earth now white, the trees bear bright new foliage of snow. beautiful, yes. “Beautiful, but hell!” Junior Wright said, wading in knee-deep snow to feed the snowbound cattle. We were young then and really didn’t mind. This morning, half a century later, under the beautiful trees, beautiful truly, repaying much, I dig out the paths again, renewing again the pattern of home life grown old in this place and many times renewed. Continuing my difficult study, I remind myself again: “Take no thought for the morrow.” Wendell Berry