The first snow is always sacred. This year it fell steadily and softly, without any wind, just in time for Thanksgiving. I’m sitting at home with a cup of tea, marveling at the silent white landscape.
Sometimes I wonder if I’m 25 or 80. At the moment, I’m knitting and waiting for my tea water to boil. I spent the day baking. There was a time when I may not have believed that my future self would be such a homebody, but when I look back, the signs were all there.