It's a mere minus-2 here this morning, but this nip in the air is forecast to herald minus-20 tonight. Weather like this is hard to manage and, with farm animals, becomes even more worrisome. I end up being outside way too often--carrying out extra hot water and meals, mostly--and at such low temperatures can feel my eyes begin to freeze up if I'm out there for longer than 5 minutes.

Anyway the house stays warmish, though we circle the wood stove like sharks. And we've never had a water pipe break. Not yet.

Here is another bit from Joe Bolton's "Aubade." These are the last few lines of the poem, and they are just like the dawn I am looking at from my own frosted window.

It is the old story,

But the old story suffices when it’s all there is:

Birds starting and the first light

Coming on—

Coming on like a minor chord struck and held,

Shaping something out of the silence

Even as it fades away.