A shiver in the early light

13 01 2012

...his house is in the village, though... so it's the trees in the yard we watch fill up with snow, as dawn reluctantly breaks into a cracking, icy yawn

Finally, much, much later than expected, winter has arrived, a temperamental houseguest, frustrated by long travel delays, striding in in a flurry of dumping her bags out all over your house the second she walks in the door. After a long, rainy night chilled by a slow temperature drop, it’s pouring snow down over a thick layer of “why-they-call-it-icing,” 35 degrees and sinking fast: by tomorrow night we’re supposed to be at less-than-zero. The roads are not only too dark still, a nightmare of reflections and black patches, but slick with slick-and-dust on top, dessert layers of some bizarre crunchy death-cake, and we’re delighted that Matt’s school just cancelled for the day and mine doesn’t start till Tuesday. So this is us bunkering in–no firewood left to burn things, but we have plenty of work to do, so we’ll be huddled gratefully next to the cold electric fires of these little machines, swimming in words and watching the muted blues and lavenders of the coming day pile and shift and sharpen and blur. This is my favorite way to look at snow–from inside someplace warm, snug, and safe (and preferably with a window-frame in the view for image-bordering and contrast and snug-emphasis).

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