one/five/twenty-one

It was the type day where-

the ground is already under a blanket and the snow never really lets up but somehow- somehow? somehow- things just stay the same and the driveway escapes without the need of a plow.

And when you visit the library- you're the only ones there save the steadfast little santa who continues to greet patrons in excess of seasonal mores because perhaps he knows delight is the marrow upon which we rely.