Before Dawn

The house is . . .

quiet, save the cats who began their romp, as usual, around 5 a.m.,

and me, awake to check the weather and school status,

which is closed.

So now I'm up and puttering,

warming sourdough starter for some biscuits when Mama and the kids wake up--

it'll be nice for her to have fresh biscuits before and after she tackles all this snow--

having my day's only cup of coffee alone, quiet, still, instead of the usual, while I gasp at the outside.

The snow, blue in the morning light, is . . .

up to the lowest branches of our pine tree,

over the armrests of our garden bench,

to the bottom of the edge of the dead end sign,

near the bottom of the mailbox,

more than mid-tire on my van, parked right up against the house to prevent such drifting,

over our "Let it Snow" sign, which has been frozen in place all these weeks,

drifted almost to top of my legs against the deck door,

up to the lid of the deck box,

almost to the edge of the deck table,

almost touching the clothesline from the deck railing,

almost up to the underside of the deck,

burying the seats of the swings on the playset,

threatening the tall fire hydrant, which we'll have to dig out.

When we go out later, early and often, I'm sure,

I'll take more pictures,

but for now,

it's dark and still and silent.

Peaceful.