Ah, the pleasure of returning home!
Even if the temperature last night did reach -28F (-33C), it is comfy to recline on my very own couch, to look out my very own windows, to enjoy the stark baby blue skies framing acres and acres and acres of pure white snow contrasted with the evergreens and the long ash branches of deciduosity.
The snow isn't deep if I compare it to the recent Sierra Nevada storms rising on the ocean south of Los Angeles. The humidity pushes 60% which is a goddess gift when it is this cold. The snow, nonetheless is crisp.
When it fell yesterday while we were driving on glass ice through north eastern Montana, one could see the very shape of every flake. When the air is warmer, those flakes disintegrate upon touching a solid surface. Not so when the air is so cold and the flakes so lacking in moisture.
I realize that at some point, like when we run out of milk and toilet paper and must travel 40+ miles to the closest supermarket, I may well wish to be in a less ardurous environment. But at the moment, both the Australian and I feel blessed to sit and read our latest novel or write our next one while in such joyous terrain.
A hot chocolate in the afternoon, a Baileys before bed, hot soup and delicious bread produced by our very own bread machine, good company, witty comraderie - is there more that one can expect from life?
Hopefully, you find yourself with this same sense of gratitude. I'm certain you may.