The day of Christmas 2011 dawned cold and gray, with a temperature hovering around 10 degrees above zero. The front porch boards snapped and popped as I walked across them to the bird-feeder pole. All was noticeably still, with not a branch or dry oak leaf moving on this windless day. A while later, large, soft snowflakes started falling intermittently, each going in its own direction.

There are many traditions that surround this time of year, and many of them have their obscure origins in nature. Evergreen trees symbolize life, as does holly, another plant that is green all year long. Mistletoe was used by the ancient Druids to celebrate the arrival of winter, and the poinsettia, that most familiar of Christmas flowers, was once thought to symbolize the star that hovered over the manger in Bethlehem. Light itself, be it from candles or electric bulbs, is an important Christmas motif, illustrating the Christian belief that Christ’s birth brought with it a new enlightenment.

Christmas in the woods is a quiet time, devoid of sound and ceremony. Aside from the deeply ingrained knowledge of the season’s significance, there is nothing to set the day apart from any other. The crows are still up early in search of food before the day’s bustle drives them away, and the chickadees are still at the feeder at first light. The cats are up early, too, for their daily ration of canned food, and the dawning light slants through the front windows the same as it does on any other early winter morning.

I haven’t done much to celebrate Christmas these last few years. I’ve come to find a simple joy in enjoying a day devoid of preparation or bustle with only these trees, this calming landscape, and my thoughts for company. It is not a bad sort of companionship, this wordless interchange between myself and those living things that communicate simply through their presence. Their days spill one into the other with not a single moment standing out in ways other than through a changing of temperature or slant of the light. In the woods, each day is special, for each represents yet another that has been lived through. I would do well to think of it this way myself.

With another Christmas behind us, we look again toward the start of yet another new year. While I don’t normally make resolutions, it’s as good a time as any to try to be even more vigilant and observant of all that goes on around me here, to keep my ears attuned to new sounds and my heart ever ready to leap at sights I might have missed up until now. In 12 years, nature has not let me down, and I doubt that this new year will be any different.

— Rachel Lovejoy, a freelance writer living in Lyman, can be reached via e-mail at rlovejoy84253@roadrunner.com.