Today it was twenty below. The afternoon light pounded through the living room windows as the ravens started their daily commute from the dumpsters around the valley to their roosts in the hills. I went for a snowshoe in the backyard. In other parts of the world the Superbowl was happening—people screamed, announcers speculated, companies advertised. Silence and frenzy are simultaneous. Just take a look around.
The mysterious black figure in the distance is Woody. He’s waiting for me to catch up.
People have emailed to ask about the new house. Yes, we got it. Yes, we’re moving, but not until the summer. No, Subarctic Mama will not become Subtropic Mama. The new house is just on the other side of town. It’s not far, but I will miss this stretch of snowshoe trail.
If anyone’s looking to buy or rent a 2 bed 1 bath house in the hills on five acres, with a jacuzzi tub, sauna, and guest cabin, drop me a line. Consider that my low-budget nod to the advertising frenzy of the day.
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