crusty
Only just below freezing, refrozen snow crystals are large and clumsy.
I rake snow off the roof to keep the gutters clear. As it warms I wash black grime off the cars, and slosh a month’s worth of winter scum off the garage floor.
peace, literally
After a late night last night and warmth in a new robe and pajamas, I watch slow snow with a big slice of fresh-baked pumpkin pie generously loaded with whipped cream. The smell of baking still hangs in the air.
Merry Christmas.
warm purr
It’s difficult to type around a cat. Moby sits between me and my keyboard, between my arms. And every anxious, busy thought I have gets lost in his warm, curled body, his soft fur, his purr.
hot-footed happiness
I’ve known for a long time that happy (warm, dry) feet make for a
happy backpacker, but I never thought about it much at home. I thought
my feet were happy enough around the house, and as long as they didn’t
hurt I didn’t give them a second thought. But now I sit at my desk
with the house cool and a little space heater at my feet, and the
warmth rises up from the very tips of my toes to the top of my balding
head and I bask in a glow of contentedness. With toasty toes I feel
great. Gears turn in my head that haven’t turned in years. There’s no
telling what I might cook up.
bright cold
A luminous early morning – clouds break up; sun breaks through,
bright and beaming – hope. It hurts my eyes.
I water our young trees again, though it’s barely above freezing. My
wet hands hurt from the cold, but it’s done.
