17 degrees below zero this morning.
When I head out to start my daughter’s car before she heads to work, a perfect half moon is poised over our house, moonbeams glistening on our black metal roof.
Cold. But the Vermont way is to say, I’ve seen colder. I have. I will (presumably) again. Just as the body accumulates tolerance, the mind unwittingly relaxes into perspective.
But that’s the mind. As the dawn opens up, the sky bruises violet. Stars gleam. The day moves on.
Lied upon one another
The umbrellas in the snow.