A snowy morning in Dixfield. The call that the teenager and the teacher in our house listen for just came in, so they will be home and safe today.
I'm keeping an eye on the judiciary website but expect to be driving over the mountain for an all-day trial.
My cousin, Dennis Price, wrote this poem about snow and sent it to me to use in one of my posts since he writes from the southernmost tip of Texas and couldn't imagine that he would have an opportunity to use it. Thanks, Texican, it's a good one!
The snow fell
stacking silent flakes
one thin matrix on another
covering winter’s brown and dormant scene.
Fresh cold air,
changing pickets and tree branches.
windborne criss-cross swirl.
Soft to touch,
bright to see
against a backdrop, gray.