"Leona, Queen of the Window: (Image & Text Copyright Wylddane Productions, LLC)
“Adopt the pace of nature: her secret is patience.” ~Ralph Waldo Emerson
Leona sat with regal patience on the braided mat beneath the window, her back straight, tail wrapped neatly around her paws. Outside, winter pressed its pale face against the glass—snow resting on branches, the yard hushed into stillness. A single snowflake drifted down and landed directly in her line of sight.
Her amber eyes widened, pupils blooming into deep, dark pools.
She lifted one paw and touched the glass. The flake remained stubbornly still, clinging to the cold pane as if daring her to intervene. Leona tapped again...this time with more authority. Nothing.
“Well,” she thought, “that is quite rude.”
She leaned closer, whiskers brushing the glass, nose fogging a small circle into the frost. If she were out there, she would catch that flake. Without question. She would conquer it, dispatch it, and then...almost immediately...decide that this entire outdoor business was a terrible idea and request readmission to her warm kingdom.
From somewhere down the street came the sound of a dog barking...joyful, frantic, utterly undignified. Leona turned her head slightly and watched as a blur of fur and enthusiasm bounded through the snow, scattering powder in every direction. She yawned, revealing a perfect pink tongue and small, precise teeth.
Amateur, she decided.
She glanced down at her paws, tucked neatly beneath her chest, warm and content. A sliver of winter sunlight had found its way through the gray sky, spilling across the windowsill and onto her fur like a quiet blessing. She was a creature of discernment...a connoisseur of soft places, watcher of worlds, guardian of thresholds.
The radiator hummed behind her, steady and reassuring. Leona closed her eyes and allowed her purr to begin, a low, resonant vibration that filled the room and stitched together warmth, light, and stillness. Outside, the snow continued its slow, silent work. Inside, order prevailed.
Let winter do as it must.
She was exactly where she was meant to be.
* * * * * * * * * *
Outside, it is –7 degrees, the kind of cold that doesn’t shout but insists. As I take a sip from my ever-faithful coffee mug, I glance toward the window. The darkness that pressed against the glass earlier has softened. Now it is a palette of gray and white, the faintest suggestion of morning beginning to arrive.
Via KDFC, Bach’s Cello Suite No. 3 fills the room. The notes do not rush. They do not demand. They simply complete the moment...each phrase offering balance, grace, and quiet resolve.
January is drawing to a close. February waits just beyond the bend. Winter, of course, is not finished with the Northwoods...not by a long shot. And yet, there is a subtle glimmer on the horizon, a reminder that change is always underway, even when the world looks frozen solid.
Leona knows this without thinking about it. She does not argue with winter. She does not long for spring. She simply inhabits her moment fully...warm paws, steady breath, watchful presence. There is usefulness in that. There is honor. There is a quiet compassion in bearing witness.
Ralph Waldo Emerson reminds us:
“The purpose of life is not to be happy. It is to be useful, to be honorable, to be compassionate, to have it make some difference that you have lived and lived well.”
Happiness, Emerson suggests, is too small a goal if it stands alone. Life asks more of us...not grand gestures or constant striving, but attention. Presence. The willingness to show up fully in the moment we’ve been given, even on cold mornings when the world feels muted and slow.
To be useful might mean offering warmth...to ourselves or others.
To be honorable might mean staying steady when it would be easier to rush ahead.
To be compassionate might be as simple as noticing the light changing, the music playing, the quiet gift of another day beginning.
Leona, queen of the window, makes her difference simply by being there...by reminding me that living well does not require haste. It requires care.
I take another sip of coffee.
The cello sings on.
And so, gently, this day begins.
~Wylddane
Leona sat with regal patience on the braided mat beneath the window, her back straight, tail wrapped neatly around her paws. Outside, winter pressed its pale face against the glass—snow resting on branches, the yard hushed into stillness. A single snowflake drifted down and landed directly in her line of sight.
Her amber eyes widened, pupils blooming into deep, dark pools.
She lifted one paw and touched the glass. The flake remained stubbornly still, clinging to the cold pane as if daring her to intervene. Leona tapped again...this time with more authority. Nothing.
“Well,” she thought, “that is quite rude.”
She leaned closer, whiskers brushing the glass, nose fogging a small circle into the frost. If she were out there, she would catch that flake. Without question. She would conquer it, dispatch it, and then...almost immediately...decide that this entire outdoor business was a terrible idea and request readmission to her warm kingdom.
From somewhere down the street came the sound of a dog barking...joyful, frantic, utterly undignified. Leona turned her head slightly and watched as a blur of fur and enthusiasm bounded through the snow, scattering powder in every direction. She yawned, revealing a perfect pink tongue and small, precise teeth.
Amateur, she decided.
She glanced down at her paws, tucked neatly beneath her chest, warm and content. A sliver of winter sunlight had found its way through the gray sky, spilling across the windowsill and onto her fur like a quiet blessing. She was a creature of discernment...a connoisseur of soft places, watcher of worlds, guardian of thresholds.
The radiator hummed behind her, steady and reassuring. Leona closed her eyes and allowed her purr to begin, a low, resonant vibration that filled the room and stitched together warmth, light, and stillness. Outside, the snow continued its slow, silent work. Inside, order prevailed.
Let winter do as it must.
She was exactly where she was meant to be.
* * * * * * * * * *
Outside, it is –7 degrees, the kind of cold that doesn’t shout but insists. As I take a sip from my ever-faithful coffee mug, I glance toward the window. The darkness that pressed against the glass earlier has softened. Now it is a palette of gray and white, the faintest suggestion of morning beginning to arrive.
Via KDFC, Bach’s Cello Suite No. 3 fills the room. The notes do not rush. They do not demand. They simply complete the moment...each phrase offering balance, grace, and quiet resolve.
January is drawing to a close. February waits just beyond the bend. Winter, of course, is not finished with the Northwoods...not by a long shot. And yet, there is a subtle glimmer on the horizon, a reminder that change is always underway, even when the world looks frozen solid.
Leona knows this without thinking about it. She does not argue with winter. She does not long for spring. She simply inhabits her moment fully...warm paws, steady breath, watchful presence. There is usefulness in that. There is honor. There is a quiet compassion in bearing witness.
Ralph Waldo Emerson reminds us:
“The purpose of life is not to be happy. It is to be useful, to be honorable, to be compassionate, to have it make some difference that you have lived and lived well.”
Happiness, Emerson suggests, is too small a goal if it stands alone. Life asks more of us...not grand gestures or constant striving, but attention. Presence. The willingness to show up fully in the moment we’ve been given, even on cold mornings when the world feels muted and slow.
To be useful might mean offering warmth...to ourselves or others.
To be honorable might mean staying steady when it would be easier to rush ahead.
To be compassionate might be as simple as noticing the light changing, the music playing, the quiet gift of another day beginning.
Leona, queen of the window, makes her difference simply by being there...by reminding me that living well does not require haste. It requires care.
I take another sip of coffee.
The cello sings on.
And so, gently, this day begins.
~Wylddane
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