Monday

Where did my morning go?! Did I let it slip away as I stared at the thermometer? (Morning reading: -7F, or -22C.) Did I lose it reading my gripping novel? Or when I dug in to try to understand the ins and outs of my retirement account? Certainly not spending time with the cheepers -- I cashed in on Ed's offer to open the coop this morning. He claims it's downright balmy out there. Fine -- enjoy!

I admire the view onto a frozen world from the kitchen window. The only delicate thing about the landscape right now is the appearance of patches of blue in the cold heavens above. (Though they disappear shortly after I take the photo.)






Breakfast -- we take our time with it. Among flowers again.






And then Snowdrop is here and she falls straight into her routines, which, if Ed is around, always begin with a climb up his belly.






And they include lots of walking. With shoes. With only one shoe. With no shoes -- I see it all.












In the afternoon, there is lunch, of course...






... and I let her pace all corners of the farmhouse some more. (That's a wine cooler, Snowdrop. You're too young.)






... and then I take a deep breath and take the girl outside for the drive to her home. I feel a surge of guilt -- the car, purchased quite used, does have this excellent luxury feature -- heated front seats. I turn the heaters off. It's not fair that I should have a warm behind while the little girl rests suspended in a car seat.

At her house, the explorations begin all over again. She is delightfully independent, but she listens closely to any explanation or instruction I may offer. (Just call her Christophena Robin and Penguin...)






It is evening all too soon. I feed her supper, I put her down for a late nap and I make my way back to the farmette.

It's snowing now -- that most sublime snowfall where every flake is lush, thick and magnificent. The air is still. The night is dark. The winter quiet has set in.

I'm glad I had to be out and about. It is, in fact, a beautiful winter night.