Yesterday, as I was driving home from an early morning appointment, I noticed most of the snow that fell a couple of weeks ago was gone. This morning we woke to white and, as of 2:30 p.m. when I’m writing this, it hasn’t stopped. What a difference a day makes.
I’ve given myself the gift of a reading day—it seems obligatory on a day such as this. A scented three-wick candle is burning, a mug of tea is by my side, and I’ve been lost in a book for much of the day so far while Molly has napped on my lap or in my arms. It’s been quite perfect.
Gerry was at the gym this morning and said the roads were terrible. I had planned to go to the library to write this afternoon but decided against it. He’s out shoveling the white stuff now and proclaimed it exceedingly heavy. We’re scheduled to go to puppy class this evening and I’m wondering if we’ll make it.
I don’t mind days like this at all. That said, in four months or so I’ll be more than ready for the season to change. Meanwhile, embracing it like the gift it is seems the wisest course of all.