Yesterday afternoon involved snow and ice and driving and terror. Lots of terror. If I ever do achieve the Minnesota dream, I'll be . . . walking.
But. Last night, I curled in bed and listened to the wind keen snow flurries around the roof. I woke up and had books and coffee time, and then I bundled up in a ski jacket and walked in the sunshine and snow that spun like glitter in the light.
Jim and I ate lunch with Dad, and then our widower horse-training neighbor came and set with us for a while. We talked about horses and religion and dogs and significant others. And the weather. Of course.
And my family ate supper together, on the gold tablecloth while the dark gathered outside.
Simply thankful.
***
Beautiful winter poem. Take me to the Czech Republic, now please.
Reading Marilynne Robinson's take on the Freudian self (among other things). She makes me look up words. It's great. Thank you Michael.
The very worst missionary? My favorite site. Ever.
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