The rain has stopped, but the cold is back. The path to the compost pile is now mud, best negotiated with husband Walter’s rubber boots. Inside, my considerate spouse had started a fire in the fireplace. We celebrated with hot tea for me and cappuccino for him. Toasty and content by the fire, I cleaned several months worth of notes, receipts and change out of the small daypack that I use instead of a purse. Later we picnicked on panini in front of the fire. Now, sitting on the floor by the fireplace, I think I can even tackle my computer bag’s collection of papers, assorted notes to myself and other clutter. A fire on a cold day is a touch of magic.
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