Last night the snow came in thick, right around bedtime. The village was winterquiet under her new blanket, excepting in those moments when the faint pushing scrape of an ambling plow by could be heard. Isn’t that a fine noise of comfort? The steady skooooosh of a town plow on fresh snow? I think the thing is, it’s nice to be in your winterquiet home in your winterquiet village and to ever so often be reminded- there are people out there, helping your existence, still, even as the winter skies open wide. Because the winter skies opened wide.
In the morning we baked pecan banana bread, and in the evening a lentil sausage soup. We shoveled and stayed put and found frozen eggs in the coop.
(The chickens are steadily laying yet; I can hardly believe it.)
January, at home.