The fire crackles hot, while I drink steaming mugs of tea on the run.

I would like to pause to mark these moments laden with winter beauty,

the icy limbs of barren branches, the silver silence of powder snowfall, the

midnight, moonlight sparkle of downy flake, and the blinding

sting of noonday. But my closets grow only more lean and ordered, and my

stovetop bubbles over with hearty soup, the house smells of fresh bread.

Bonnie Saul Wilks