Six degrees and I’m watching the wind whip the snow through the back fields. The cold precipitates the atmosphere. The sky is purer, clearer; the snow whiter.
The wood stove is as hot as we can get it.
The chickens come out of the coop for a breath of fresh air. They stand on one foot or the other. Their feathers are puffed to thicken the layer of insulating air. Only for a few minutes.
Outside my back door the world huddles and dreams through the cold. Be still.
And there is much that tells us to get moving.
. If our hands are warm on the way to the car,
. and the car starts,
. and the roads are clear,
it’s just another day.