It snowed a lot these days. The front door gets stuck by ice. We bought a snow sledge and a shovel on my birthday, and made a path down the garden to the compost bin. As our neighbors recommended, we piled up some snow along the walls around the house. It’ll help keep it warm, they said.
Mornings are calm and slow. I’ve finished the book my parents gave me for Christmas, gladly putting my new year’s resolution into practice. Read every morning before switching on the computer. Best one ever.
I sewed another tote. Haven’t decided yet what I’ll use it for. Laundry, perhaps? Yarn? I’ll make some more.
We sit and work. Reading, writing, editing, illustrating. Depending on inspiration. We warm up bowlfuls of soup on the stove for lunch, then a pot of coffee. We linger by the stove a little while longer.
When the sun comes out, we step outside, snap some photos, shovel some snow, marveling at the beautiful, silent whiteness. This is our place. I still can’t believe this is our place.