The fire in the wood stove is burning well, so well that I move my chair further away.  From the picture window the view is mostly white.  The black iron table and chairs stand starkly, half buried in the new snow, the third storm in less than a month. Fat flakes glue themselves to the window where they melt, sliding down and sideways, following the fickleness of the wind.  Snow builds on pine branches, forcing them lower, lower…until a strong gust shifts the weight and they bounce upwards, scattering their cargo.  They settle back and the loading begins again   

 

all the day’s lists

counted and checked

burning brighter