Ugh. Ten below zero this morning, and the stove is gobbling firewood. At least this means I was able to talk Tom out of going to work. Yesterday, when I went for a walk with my friend Linda, the temperature was a cheery four degrees and the birches were postcard portraits against a cerulean sky. Today I can't see the sky because the windows are coated in ice. Perhaps I will pretend I live in Norway with the Frost Giants and the Ice Cows and so on, but where are the fjords?
I must say that it's a relief not to have animals in the barn--not for my own sake (I still have to plod outside and deal with firewood) but I was always heavy-hearted about leaving them in the cold. No matter how snug I tried to make them, they were still living in an unheated, uninsulated shack. Ruckus may be offended by the weather, but at least he can come inside and eat the corners off all the Christmas packages in 80-degree comfort.