Today it's snowing, very gently. It's winter on Antelope Hill. Come on in and see what is happening.

It's a quiet, snowy Saturday afternoon.

Let's go into the kitchen while Scott shovels the front porch.

The kitchen is cozy and warm this weekend afternoon, and for Spot, it's the place to be. Two pumpkin pies are cooling on the island. I am ready to put the pork roast with its surrounding vegetables into the oven. Soon, the rich aroma will fill the kitchen and Spot will be in heaven. While we wait for the roast, let's curl up around cups of tea and do our email.

It was a cozy evening.

At one point after dinner, Scott was playing with little Snowy and fell asleep on the kitchen floor. (One day we will get the floor refinished!!) And early the next morning . . .

. . . the girls dropped by. We have a little band of mule deer in our neighborhood, mostly does. We call them "the girls." Here are most of the girls, photographed through the kitchen window, early one Sunday morning. One by one the girls lifted gracefully and jumped the fence, then trailed on down the draw to the south.

We had to move the bird feeder when the new concrete porches were poured, and -- no birds! They missed the shrubs and other cover that used to be nearby. So Scott had the idea of setting up an old wire chair and ancient puppy exercise pen to make "shrubs" for them. Presto! Now there are birds at the feeder once more.

Two hours after sunrise, a few wisps of cloud can be seen trailing from Three Points Peak as I head out to the garden to see how it is faring this winter.

The garden sleeps under a thin mantle of sparkling snow. This is the time of year when I pore over seed catalogs and dream of planting vegetables (well, to be absolutely honest, mostly pumpkins) and flowers. We must make room for more pumpkins and more flowers this year! Yes, we will have to expand the garden in 2010.

There are many little creatures who live on the hill, and it is lovely to find that they have been out and about -- like the deer mouse who left these tracks during the night.

Here is our dear Andie at 7.5 months old. She loves to jump up on anything and everything. I swear, every time I bend over, I feel her two front paws on my hip pockets; I think she would jump on my head if she thought she could find a foothold there. She is graceful, feminine, sound, elegant, and very sweet and bright. I have been waiting for such a girl for most of my life.

Many "spare" hours this winter have been and will be spent in working on various bits for the Tucson Sheltie National, coming up in mid-March. The dining table, with all its leaves put in, is topped with an array of Sculpey clay, paints and brushes, and various other things I won't mention. This is an interesting project; I like figuring out how to craft new things.

One of our favorite things about Antelope Hill is its panoramic views of the sky and mountains all around. In winter, sunrise can be astonishing. Purples, blues, golds, fiery oranges, pinks and reds -- they are all here.

Above, the sunrise edges patches of snow with margins of fire. The world is always offering the astonishing, the unexpected, the exquisite, especially true of winter sunrises! Just at the time when one needs warm color the most, the sky fills with flame. And the same could be said of winter sunsets, below.

Perhaps in 2010 we will finish the house. We came quite a distance in 2009, completing the garage and dog play room and yard, the remainder of the house siding, a bit of the plumbing, and the majority of the wiring in the new portion of the house. Outside, much of the ground disturbed in digging the new walk-out basement has been re-contoured, and we have the patios and porches in place. In the photo above, the house seems to be drawing itself up to take a deep breath. As soon as it's spring, we will begin once more on the finishing. Deep winter is a time for us to turn inward, to cocoon, not to build. But we are thankful for the distance we came in 2009, and are very pleased with the progress we have been able to make without a loan or mortgage.

I moved most of my house plants into a back bedroom for the winter, where the sunlight pours into the room from the east through large windows. One plant I moved was an outdoor annual, a pot of nasturtium. I hoped I might get a bloom or two more before the plant shut down. One day I noticed a thin whitish trailer on its way to the windowsill, growing from the nasturtium pot after all the leaves had died. I watered it. Eventually, this pale, fragile stem traveled almost two feet of empty space and reached the windowsill. Soon after, a round green leaf opened and pressed itself to the window glass, followed by others. The lightest touch on the stem would sever these leaves from their roots in the pot two feet away, yet these bright green parasols persist and grow, reminding me that without hope, there can be nothing accomplished, and no dreams. So I send out a hopeful wish for the new year: I wish you good health, safety, loving companions, and hope for the future, undaunted by challenge and determined as these green leaves. Happy 2010!