Yesterday a cold wind blew as the clouds moved out and opened up the sky to a reveal a clear, still night. The moon lit up the field, its light falling over the garden so when I stepped outside last night I could still make out the rows: the sunflowers looming over their neighbors, the t-posts marking the tomato row, the cabbage, broccoli and cauliflower sitting wide in the upper garden. What little heat the clouds held in dissipated into the clear sky, and while we started up the wood stove and slept cozy in the yurt, outside frost laid down on the field and crops. This morning we woke to a misty hillside, the sun filtering through the fog just enough to tell us it was time to wake, and while I nursed Waylon and stayed cuddled in bed for as long as I could justify, Edge started chores. Outside, the fog slowly lifted, dew clinging to the remay, drops of water slicking the slender blades of grass.