We have snow. I awoke to a white world. I think about 4 inches fell, not much but it is the first of the season so it is remarkable in itself. I went out and found my papers. They were the small mound of snow behind my car. Late Saturday through Sunday another storm is due and will drop much more snow than this one, 6 to 10 inches.

My Christmas tree is sitting naked it its stand waiting for the plastic bag to cover it so it can be hauled outside. All the lights and ornaments are on the couch. Needles cover the floor beneath the tree. I’ll haul the storage boxes up from the cellar later. This is a sad day.

My niece in Colorado said her son didn’t have pre-school today. All schools were closed. It was -27˚, the actual temperature. With the wind chill it was -38˚. The weatherman predicts a warm up by noon when it will reach 0˚.  I can’t imagine a temperature that cold.  We seldom even get to single digit temperatures. I complain when it gets down to the 20’s.

The worst of winter stretches in front of me. February and March are the snowiest months. I can even remember a snow day in April. I used to shovel, but I don’t anymore. Skip comes to plow and shovel. I am content to sit inside waiting for him. My biggest exertion is writing the check.

I can’t deny the beauty of the snow. The tree limbs are covered, and when the wind blows, the light, fluffy snow becomes a shower of snow. I watch Gracie go down the back steps worrying that she’ll fall. She tends to slide on the last few steps in her eagerness to hurry to the yard. She keeps her eyes on me as I’m standing by the back door. She is expecting I’ll stay there to open the door for her. I always do.

January is a boring month. It lacks celebration. It lacks color. It is a month to be endured inside the house not outside in the cold. It is the month for reading, for listening to the fire crackling and for snuggling on the couch under a warm afghan.