The big lake is freezing over and most days the sky is deeply overcast. The sun sleeps in till ten and when it shuffles awake I can't tell where it is, there is no sense of it through the clouds, no yellow hint. What light there is comes from the snow beneath. Grey, everywhere grey. Flat, tight, close. GREY.
But on occasion the clouds part, the sun reminds, temperatures drop. The snow gives up trying and simply is
. White zillion flakes crinkling underfoot - reflecting is what it does best. And my home paints the walls in honey butter.
I love that part.