I spent most of yesterday raking leaves, mulching the garden, and unloading firewood. This morning my band is playing up at Stutzmans' Cafe in Sangerville, but then I'll be back to mulching and raking and unloading. Tiny golden tamarack needles will float in the currents, and a cold breath will rise from the ground. The cat will lurk among the log piles and the joyful dog will skip down the path ahead of the wheelbarrow. Two bluejays will argue over the birdfeeder. A crushed white mushroom will reveal its mysterious yellow heart.