The mellow winter sun rests early behind the band of dark oaks that line the fence. Their bare branches reach up toward the heavens in joyous assurance that the sun will soon climb its way back to its throne in the mid-heaven. In most areas, winter weather can be too harsh, but here the climate seems like the earth's soothing repose from hectic activity.

Even I am not totally isolated from that frenzied world. I worked in Houston at a temp secretarial job for a couple of days to make enough money for food and gas for the next month. I also went to the library to make up lists of more literary agents to query. I am heading home with a long list of "to do's."

Since the sun withdraws so early these days, I arrive home after dark. I always feel that I have reached home when I get out of the car to unlock the gate. Pausing, I look up to behold the cold black sky scattered with a million beaming stars. Only at this moment am I assured that I am far away from the city with its glaring lights, noisy traffic, hazy pollution and, especially, those damn leaf blowers.

My return home calls for a celebration—doing something I really enjoy. I decide to decorate my Christmas tree. To set the mood of this premiere act of celebrating the Winter Solstice, I build a blaze of a fire in the hearth and light candles on the mantle. Then I set up my tree, an artificial one. I am able to keep the fake tree up longer, so I can enjoy it for months.

After unpacking the boxes of trimmings, I carefully loop the long strings of tiny lights around the branches. Standing back to admire the little lamps of twinkling stars that have come to brighten my winter nights, I finally determine that they are evenly dispersed. For me the placing of all my ornaments is creating a giant work of art. I have a collection of lovely old ornaments. Some are semi-antique, meaning they are the same as the ones my family had when I was a child. But a couple of dozen are legitimately older than I am, they date from the 1920's. Can you imagine a tiny globe of fragile glass that has survived for over seventy years?

If you ever wanted evidence that I am neurotic, you should see me decorating my tree. I actually talk to the ornaments and tell them how lovely they are and how much I enjoy them. Then I ask them where they want to hang on the tree to show themselves to their best advantage. . . sometimes I have to move them around a few times before we are both satisfied.

During the whole affair, I have Christmas music playing. Intermittently, I take a break to whirl to “Joy to the World” or dance a jig to “Little Drummer Boy.” For dinner, I munch on crisp apples and sip hot spiced tea. I am just spinning with delight. I can be so uninhibited and have so much fun playing alone! I have to wonder if I would be the same if someone else were here with me.

The following morning, sure signs of winter welcome me as I go out on the deck. The frost on the ground tells me the clear weather lasted through the night. Before I went to bed at midnight, I realized I was feeling unusually cold. When I checked the thermometer, I found it was already thirty-two degree. It was fortunate that I thought to check because I was able to bring in the flats of wheat grass and sunflower sprouts, as well as a couple of ornamental plants in pots on the deck. The frost kissed farewell to the blue flowers around the deck, but it compensated by leaving their green leaf spikes tinged with a lovely purple. The cold air continues to bring flocks of goldfinches to my offerings in the feeders.

When I bundle up to go out to feed Copper, I rescue a big black fuzzy caterpillar from the path. I find him wrapped up in a tiny ball, so I fear he might be dead. But when I bring him into the warm house and put him in the flat of sunflower sprouts, he perks right up. The next morning when I put out the sprouts to get some sunshine, he goes out with them. Later I am out on the deck watering some crocus, grape hyacinths and narcissus bulbs that I have planted in small pots. Sure enough when I check the flat, the caterpillar has taken off. He's disappeared somewhere out there in the green world to cocoon himself into a black void, then meditate on becoming a butterfly. I'll see him dancing among the flowers in the springtime.

The following morning I wake up to what has got to be the coldest rainiest yuckiest day possible. It poured all night long. Suddenly, out of the gray wet fog comes the song of that same bird I hear nearly every morning, singing at the top of its lungs. Can this Carolina wren possibly know how delightful his song is; that, in fact, he has made my day? Leaf blowers or wren song—what a choice.

As usual when it rains, I sit at the computer practically all day. That evening, to reward myself for all my work and to get some exercise, I decide to have another Christmas party. I even dance to Silent Night—it's nice to dance in soft swirls also. My definite favorite is Waltz of the Flowers. I feel I am a butterfly fluttering and whirling among the tiny glowing lights of the Christmas tree. I always dance in spontaneous movements to the rhythm and tone of the music, gliding whirling swooping. Each song is a new creation. I never repeat any series of moves, or maybe I do. Teenagers are right: Dancing has got to be the best exercise for relieving stress and repression. However, dance has also been used for centuries by numerous cultures around the world for creating bonding in their societies and even for the changing of consciousness. We humans sure have the capacity to create many realities for ourselves.