|Fresh snow Monday afternoon on our street|
"Our snow was not only shaken from white wash buckets down the sky, it came shawling out of the ground and swam and drifted out of the arms and hands and bodies of the trees; snow grew overnight on the roofs of the houses like a pure and grandfather moss, minutely -ivied the walls and settled on the postman, opening the gate, like a dumb, numb thunder-storm of white, torn Christmas cards." - Dylan Thomas, A Child's Christmas in Wales
And that's what happens when you have cats on your lap. They wake up, step on the keyboard and delete the entire paragraph you just finished writing. But I was just whining about the four and a half inches of snow we got on Sunday/Monday, so I suppose you really aren't missing anything. At least the sun came out afterwards and melted a little bit of it (so it could be nice and icy the next day).
|One-quarter of a paper-pieced star|
And lastly, another gratuitious cat picture because I love them, despite their frequent faux paws.
|Rusty says: "Get that camera out of my face!"|
Until next time,