Winter Wonderland

I'm getting prepared for the next power outage. Buckets of water are on stand-by, as are the flashlights and candles. I ran the dishwasher; Dave is catching up on his laundry. And I made a salad because I got bloody sick of peanut butter the last time. Teddy has an extra box or two to play in since he can't go outside.

I'm trying to stay positive -- because it's been so frigid, maybe the ice still clinging to the power lines is brittle and will just fall off when the wind hits it -- but there's no point in playing ostrich either.

And, yet, it's still beautiful. I am so often reminded of the Emily Dickinson poem "There's a Certain Slant of Light" -- usually in the fall, but more and more this winter. About 3 p.m. the air gets a richness about it as if the cold has been absorbing sunlight all day and begins to reflect it back. The fences glimmer with ice, and unspoiled, unbroken expanses of white cover everything, like that white fleecy stuff you can buy at Christmastime to put under the creche.

I may have to finish my book by flashlight tonight and wear three pairs of socks to bed. It's a dead cert that I'll have to re-shovel the Western Passage, but for now -- an Iowa girl come home -- it's all good.