Cold, Clear Light
It was cool enough this morning that I was reluctant to leave the warm cocoon of green flannel sheets and sleeping cats. We are enjoying cooler bedroom temperatures but there was just a bit too much nip in the air.
By the time I got downstairs--shortly before sunrise, the outside temperature was four below zero. The wood stove filled the kitchen/dining area with radiant warm, so even though it has the most windows of any room in the house, that area is the warmest spot in the house. Little Slippers rarely leaves the hearth now, basking against the heated rocks and oblivious to the rest of the world. The stove--a Blaze Princess--goes through wood slightly faster when the temperature is down to zero, but we have plenty of wood and can keep the house comfy.
Winter is still oppressing us out of a deceptively blue sky.
Brutal weather doesn't come in a blizzard-y bluster. It comes from pallid skies and motionless air with the cold of the spaces between the stars pressing down on you. The sun makes a brief excursion above the southern hills, coloring the snow a washed-out yellow and making us squint into the light.
From inside, looking out, it looks like a nice day--clear and calm. But if I stand too close to the patio door, I can feel the chill reaching out to me through the glass and I know the sun-kissed day outside is an illusion, mid-winter dreaming of summer.
They tell us the days are getting longer but we haven't noticed it yet. We stay abed until nine in the morning and even then the southern horizon is just beginning to show light. By four in the afternoon, we are watching the oranges and pinks of sunset color the few thin clouds out over the Inlet.
We have been taking it easy since Christmas, a break that coincides nicely with the present cold snap. Even the cats are taking it slow, sleeping away the hours between meals, perhaps dreaming of those warm, endless days of summer that are half-a-year away.
We still have to pass through January and February before we can expect warmer days and nights when you can stargaze without inviting frostbite.
For now, we are hibernating...
By the time I got downstairs--shortly before sunrise, the outside temperature was four below zero. The wood stove filled the kitchen/dining area with radiant warm, so even though it has the most windows of any room in the house, that area is the warmest spot in the house. Little Slippers rarely leaves the hearth now, basking against the heated rocks and oblivious to the rest of the world. The stove--a Blaze Princess--goes through wood slightly faster when the temperature is down to zero, but we have plenty of wood and can keep the house comfy.
Winter is still oppressing us out of a deceptively blue sky.
Brutal weather doesn't come in a blizzard-y bluster. It comes from pallid skies and motionless air with the cold of the spaces between the stars pressing down on you. The sun makes a brief excursion above the southern hills, coloring the snow a washed-out yellow and making us squint into the light.
From inside, looking out, it looks like a nice day--clear and calm. But if I stand too close to the patio door, I can feel the chill reaching out to me through the glass and I know the sun-kissed day outside is an illusion, mid-winter dreaming of summer.
They tell us the days are getting longer but we haven't noticed it yet. We stay abed until nine in the morning and even then the southern horizon is just beginning to show light. By four in the afternoon, we are watching the oranges and pinks of sunset color the few thin clouds out over the Inlet.
We have been taking it easy since Christmas, a break that coincides nicely with the present cold snap. Even the cats are taking it slow, sleeping away the hours between meals, perhaps dreaming of those warm, endless days of summer that are half-a-year away.
We still have to pass through January and February before we can expect warmer days and nights when you can stargaze without inviting frostbite.
For now, we are hibernating...
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