Hibernating; clues I should not ignore

I have been mostly antisocial lately. Drawn in. Not unhappy, just happy to keep to myself.
My practice has been slow. This is frightening, discouraging, and it makes me less solvent than usual. I will admit it is bringing up old fears about survival, and memories I'd rather not explore about choosing food or gas. Still, if the me of last year or the year before was talking to the me of now, and the me of now was bitching about how much money she wasn't making, the me of two years ago would bitchslap the me of now, and the last year me would just shrug her shoulders.
Nevertheless, I worry. Besides that, it is dark, it is winter, and the absolute yin in me wants to be quiet, sleep, eat starchy fatty things, and watch the fire burn down while my big white furry babeh snuggles with me on the couch, the only time he is soft and sweet. I am blessed with many friends who would like very much to see me. But I just want some space, some not-talking, some emptiness I'll never fill.

My mountain practice has been particularly slow lately. I haven't put much energy into it. I have left the farm, which is something I haven't discussed here. (I love the farm, but I do not love the drama inherent on a farm with 12 horses, one woman, and transient help. See above.)
Sometimes I wonder if I should just give up my work on the mountain, regardless of how much I love it there. Today I was considering just that, when my phone rang. It was the Tuesday Lunch Crowd at the Spoon, calling to tell me they missed me. It was loud. In the background I could hear people shouting, "We love you!" I felt warmed and loved and tingly inside, like someone who has something special that was just given to her. A little while after that, another mountainy woman called me to ask if I would send my love for her dog into the universe. It so happened that this dog, who belongs to a patient of mine, was given some rawhide, which does not agree with him. The dog has been very sick for days, and this patient of mine told me that she knows that I know things about healing, she said, and that my love would help her dog, as it has helped her so much. I had never had a conversation quite like that. And later still, one more mountainy woman phoned me, to give me news I had been waiting for and worrying over.
On this day of considering whether or not to continue my mountain work, the mountain called me on the phone three times--once to love me, once to ask me for help, and once to remind me how much I have helped already.
This girl knows when she has been told.
I'll put more of myself up there, and let it grow again.