Snow is falling again in thick little bundles of white. It slides off the roof with a loud whoosh every fifteen minutes or so. I've heard totals of 1 -8 inches, depending on the weatherman, right now, we're somewhere in the middle, and the snow is still falling. I have tulips and willow-ware on the wash-stand, Yarrow and Seth came in from play coated in white and bright-checked, Luba refused to spend more than a minute in the storm (though maybe in part because she was pelted with snow-balls). Now Luba is in her resentful place on the couch, staring out at us with hurt in her eyes. No one does reproachful better than Luba, despite not having a 'talking mouth' (as Yarrow is constantly pointing out). Luba doesn't need a talking mouth. She has a mournful little face and deep sighs of broken-hearted affection. She has it made.
We have more snow than we know what to do with..I worry about plowing (will he have the space this time?), but only in the back of my mind - in the foreground I have seed catalogs, Lehman's catalogs, and the magazine photos of sweater-clad Brits hiking though an easy inch or two of snow on their way to some cozy pub. Comforting images.
The weathermen all promise warmer, late-winter days above 30 degrees this week. I'll shovel out the kitchen, walk to the mailbox, and stand in the February sunlight - absorbing hope; but until then, we have snow angels and hot-cocoa. Life is beautiful.
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