Last night I slipped on the ice.  The sidewalk in front of the library parking lot was unnavigable, so we walked in the street.  Neither of us was wearing white.  The cars’ headlights reflected off the patches of ice, showing us where it was unsafe to step.

When I fell, I banged a knee, and caught myself on my palm.  The sore knee didn’t last for long.  I was lucky.  This is the weather of broken bones.

That’s the wicked part.

Wondrous is the excuse to stay indoors.  Prevented from going anywhere by ice, snow, and single-digit temperatures, I’m allowed to slow down, to write a bit, quilt those pillow covers, and even do nothing much.

Meals tend toward comfort foods, root soups, polenta.  Why not oatmeal for dinner?  Hot applesauce.  And many cups of chai.

Wondrous, wicked, and waiting for spring.