The winter passes slowly. For those who are strong and active it has no terrors although it may cause a certain amount of discomfort. For those who are weak and sick it becomes an ordeal. At no time during the winter is Cliff Palace free from sickness and suffering and the spirits of the people are often low. In January the cold becomes more intense. Scores of fires burn brightly in the great cave as the people attempt to drive out the cold. Some nights the temperature falls very close to zero. High overhead hangs a brilliant white moon and the snowy canyon is almost as light as day. From the cliff near the great ceremonial building comes the wail of a coyote: from the mesa top comes the mournful hoot of an owl. The cave is quiet except for low chanting in some of the kivas and the snoring of old men. Sometimes a baby whimpers or a sick person groans. Now and then a muffled scream echoes through the cave as an aged sufferer cries out from the agony of arthritis or an abscessed tooth. There is little travel during the coldest periods. The men forego their hunting and visiting and everyone stays close to the sheltering cave with the single idea of keeping warm and well. The city is quieter now: there is none of the boisterous gaiety that was so pronounced during the other seasons. The men spend most of their time in the kivas while the women and children gather around the fires in the courtyards. The turkeys roost in the back of the cave at night and come out in the daytime to wander about the courts and roof-tops and fight with the dogs for scraps of food that are thrown to them. During periods when there is deep snow in the canyon, the turkeys are fed small amounts of the precious corn but in late winter they grow thin and bedraggled. When they are not roaming about the city searching for food they sit in quiet rows on the housetops, feathers fluffed against the cold. The turkeys are highly prized, both for their meat and for their feathers, but they lead a miserable existence. They do not thrive in the cold shadowy cave and the flocks usually are not large. Not only are they tormented by children and dogs but regularly they suffer the indignity of having their feathers plucked for use in ceremonies and in the manufacture of feather blankets. As the end of winter draws near the food becomes more monotonous. Many of the tastier foods are gone: the supplies of pinon nuts, dried fruits, roots, squash and dried berries are completely exhausted. Now each meal consists of meat, corn bread and beans. Sometimes the meat is fresh but usually it is meat that was dried last fall. This meat is as hard as rawhide and must be pounded with stones and thoroughly cooked before it can be eaten. In order to gain variety the women bake the corn bread in every possible way and corn meal, meat and beans are combined in numerous forms. Still the food is monotonous and everyone longs for something green.