The view out the east-facing windows early was spectacular this morning: White snow, dimly illuminated homes with remnants of heat escaping from chimneys, and behind it all a glowing rosy line of sky at the horizon.
It almost made up for last night's ridiculously frigid temperature. Almost.
Boy, do we have a raging case of cabin fever at our house. I daydream of toasty sunshine, balmy breezes, and bare toes several times daily. I am sustained only by the passing of weeks on the calendar, by the knowledge that each day increases by a minute or so in duration, by the promise of change (in the weather--NOT in the White House. Puh-LEEEZ). It's hard to find inspiration to write much of value these days. I have no trouble kvetching about the weather, but Lord knows that's not going to change anything outside, now is it?
Please excuse me—I need to step into my mind for a moment now.