All my optimism of yesterday is buried under a couple of inches of snow. I also noticed the bird feeders are empty again so I’ll trudge through the snow on the deck to fill them after I finish here. The snow showers have started again. First there were a few wispy flakes, but now the flakes are larger and falling faster as if they have illusions of grandeur. I don’t want to go anywhere. I figure I’ll shower, put on my cozies and read. I’m thinking an afghan on the couch.

I’m typing and reading out loud as I type. It is my way of hearing the words and proof reading as I go along. Gracie, asleep on the chair, sighs loudly every now and then. I figure she is dreaming of the day she can lie on the grass in the backyard and be warmed by the sun. The cats are upstairs under the bed near the heater. None of us seem to have much energy. Some days are like that.

I just can’t seem to pull my eyes away from the window. Begrudgingly I have to admit the falling snow is pretty. It is not supposed to amount to much, but this is March and this is Cape Cod and when it comes to spring weather, there are no guarantees.

The day is dark, and the light in here is on. In the living room, small electric candles are lit, and in the basket by the fireplace the gourd lights shine through and there are shadows on the wall. The snow is heavier now than earlier. When I started writing, I was feeling a bit bored and a little lonely. Now, I feel a sort of contentment: happy to be home, happy to be warm and looking forward to being lost in a book. Some days just surprise me.