A little cold, a little optimism

I'm sitting at the computer here, half undressed but still wearing my winter coat. Don't even try to figure that out. We're home from church and shopping (bought four bottles of wine, 41 boxes of Annie's mac n cheese, two gallons of milk--set for the week!)--and though I turned up the heat on our return, it takes a while for the house to feel anywhere close to 65 degrees.

It is an exquisite Sunday afternoon. snow, snow, everywhere, marked with footprints and shadows, the fence in reflection, slats ticking up the garden path. The happy squeal of a child flying down our sledding hill. Hopefully said child has missed the various dangers at the bottom of the hill: cold fire pit, frozen creek, picnic table.

Though we watched a fascinating BBC series on the Crusades this morning that left me both laughing at the stupid men who trekked all the way to Jerusalem without proper suitcases, and also full of the awful weight of their sheer barbarism in the name of God--though it is down in my stomach like a ball of lead--I am still filled with gentle optimism. Winter makes me so grateful for sunshine (see my column in the paper for this week), so happy for subtle colors--the wheat-browns of the tall grass in our garden, the snow on the shed roof that catches a bright white light, Merry's ridiculously pink coat travelling by my window. And of course the birds, six black wings flashing up from the ground into a sky so pale it might not be blue, but is.