Added Layers

I could tell it had snowed again by the degree of quiet. Flipped on the back porch light and it's a smooth white blanket, my paths are disappeared, all trace gone. I marvel, looking outside, at how pristine the world can be. It's beautiful, and not near so cold. Stoke the fire, pour a wee dram, roll a smoke, settle in for a couple of hours with a good book. When the refrigerator cycled on again I got up, to kill the breaker, and instead listened to some Skip James. That strain of blues where what seems like slightly sloppy guitar is actually dead on. I do love the blues, no matter if it's Chicago electric, or delta acoustic. The added layers of insulation build with the layers of snow, another couple of inches called for before it turns to rain tomorrow, then it becomes a muddy mess. 100 percent chance of rain turning to sleet turning to snow, but it did get to 32 degrees today, for the first time in days. Rotting snow. Three trips to the woodshed, and that's it for my time outside. It'll be a quagmire for a week, but I might be able to get to town early one morning. Sudden eruptions of sound when snow slides off the roof. That strange mist settles, when snow tries to sublimate into saturated air. A flock of Robins today and they seemed out of place. Then a light, almost frozen, rain, and I have the thought that I'll probably lose power tonight, so I make preparations Sleet, I'd better go. Hours later the dripping off the roof wakes me, I stoke the fire and make a mug of tea, sit in the dark, thinking idle thoughts about attachment. Breaking dawn and I can see it snowed again, four new inches and the trees are covered. It's incredibly beautiful. Another day of silent explosions. I don't go outside at all. I'd let the fire go out, the house was so warm, after breakfast just wrapped up in a blanket and settled in with a book. Next to the last meal of beans and cornbread, so I have to think about that, what to cook next. Something with noodles. Melt snow, carry wood, keep it simple.