As I write this, looking out over the draw from the bay windows, I am again struck by the beauty of snow. The trees are all dappled with it, and there is a low-lying fog, promising more white stuff. It’s cold and the roads are icy, but it’s a stay-at-home day for me, a writing day.
There’s a man downstairs, fixing the fireplaces. (None doesn’t do household repairs. Or much of anything, for that matter.) A new kitchen table is being delivered today, and yet another man is coming to measure the upstairs hallway for hardwood. When the pounding starts, Bernice, Sadie and I will head for the lake. In the meantime, everybody, human and furry, is safe and warm.
It’s all good.
