Winter is coming. The White Witch passed through our woods leaving no footprints. Everything is pillowed in soft snow.
This sparkling magic is starkly different from midsummer’s slow twilight and leafy splendor. Dim dayed and long nighted, wrapped in blankets, bare-branched, warm kneed, Winter.
Everything is solid! The full water bottle burst and froze to the nightstand. Pixie whined and licked at the ice in her water bowl. The pickles are trapped in pickle juice ice. The apples are too cold to hold in our bare hands. The coffee grounds were stuck to the press.
We stay in the kitchen, knees pressed close to the wood stove and watch movies on the computer. We cook ourselves glorious meals and ignore the dishes for as long as possible.