Winter is hanging in the garden and the lawn, her strong pale breath rolling in from the south. Outside the whiteness has stopped descending for at least a little while while inside I have discovered you can disguise the unused half of the bedroom if you make the bed first thing in the morning.

When I can’t sleep I scratch out rhymes and verses in the notebook I keep on the nightstand and in the mornings I discover stanzas like And if this length’ning winter heralds the coming of no spring, my heart will seek its solace amid the frozen things.

The leftovers from dinner are wrapped and in the fridge; recipe for two that I prepared and got myself a Band-aid when I cut my hand peeling the potato and as I rinse my bleeding finger in the sink there’s one too many hooks for robes on the back of the bathroom door.

But if nothing else outside the whiteness has stopped descending for at least a little while.