One last winter wail

It’s not yet 7 a.m. and I’m sitting in the dinning room looking out the window at the snow. A heap of it. I have no idea how much fell, only that it started yesterday afternoon and kept going until late evening. It’s gorgeous and everything is closed today.

The best part about a snow day, this one in particular, is the early morning coffee and the time I’m getting with my newborn daughter. She’s snoozing right now, and the world outside is quiet.

I’ve turned on the TV a couple of times (been up since 4 a.m.), but I always get the same thing. Weather maps and forecasters, and reporters who put their boots in the snow to show you how deep it is. They say it’ll clear up by Friday and then spring will probably be on its way. I suppose it’s time, but I do enjoy the winter. I miss it, especially in August.

When I get some daylight, I’m going to walk the dogs. Or they’re going to walk me. People love to slow down and say that to me as my dogs, both about 50 pounds each and powerful, yank me along Tapoco Avenue. “Are you walking those dogs, or are they walking you?” As if my poor dog training needs underscoring. But I won’t see many of those ride side hecklers today. Not if I get out there before noon.


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