Sleeping In on a Snowy Day

Glittery, soft and thick.

From my vantage point, snuggled deep under down comforters, I can see that last night's snowfall has covered everything in a carpet of white, hiding the gardens not yet put to bed, the pumpkins still left from Halloween and the black plastic pots I left by the drive in the spring. My cat, stark black against the white, is sitting on the step by the front door, watching his newly transformed domain with yellow eyes.

Everything is silent...or almost silent. Cars travel slowly, their tires muffled against the snow and sand on the road. The voices in the village that carry down the street in the summer are no more than tones on the wind this morning. The town plow truck, rumbling with power, whooshes through, spraying wet snow to the sides.

In a few hours, my children will arrive- laughing, jumping, shouting, talking - the sounds are comforting, welcome even, in a house that echoes with quiet when they are gone. Their boots will break trails around the house and my carpet at the back door will be covered in snow. Toys and books will be scattered every which way - joyful chaos. I will coax a hot fire from our wood stove and we will read together on the couch, eating hot popcorn and drinking warm cider. We will talk about their week at school and what they did at their dad's. We will call California and chat with my family. We will snuggle.

Tomorrow is Thanksgiving and there are lists to write, pies to make, eggrolls to stuff and custards to set. My not-quite-clean house will be less clean than usual and I will turn a blind eye for the sake of my good humor and sanity.

In the meantime though, I will lay here a bit longer, warm and sleepy, writing for no other reason than to express my gratitude for cold snow and hot fires, noisy children and messy houses. It's a good life.