Where did the month go? How often are these tropes going to pervade my writing - the week that blurred by, the nondescript happenings of an otherwise boring week. I blame the month. January is cruel. It is muddy. It is frozen and I freeze with it.

I sat in bed a lot this week. Warmed by an electric pad my parents got us for Christmas. I sat in bed. Nearly finished a book. Got new reading glasses. Listened to a tree break off in the distance. The noise worried the dogs. They didn’t sit still for an hour. Maybe it was a deer, crashing an antler against the steel sheets of ice that blanket the creekbed.

Hoof prints in the morning, they leave no sign of themselves. I do not mind the company. It gets lonely here. I take care of 30 animals every day. I could still care for a few more, still worry about a few more, still sink into the background thought of the quicksand of commitment I love so much.

Puppy naps. 79 eggs to wash. Makeshift lazy snacks. Mornings in bed with new reading glasses. Milo cuddles at my desk. Milo cuddles when Nolan’s home, too. New vest. Chicken shoes. Walks to the manmade lake by our house. Prepping for winter. Corn and pine and scratch.

Are these the tropes that pervade my writing?

It’s -4° tonight.

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