It is unmistakeably winter here
Everything is white. The sky is white, the ground is white, the air is white. All is white except the bare brown branches.
The river behind my house is covered with snow, the overhanging branches glancing over the frozen surface. The woods seem naked and empty without leaves to hide behind. The trees grow blurry with strange winter mist, melting together in the distance. It is so cold now that it hurts to go outside. The fields are empty, choppy stocks of grass rising from the snow. I used to look out over those fields as a child and imagine stories and figures there.
Sometimes I still do.
I know I have been terribly absent here in the last few months and I am sorry. I will try to do better!