Thick Skins

Even as I work to figure out my new place in the world, it seems the world has been doing much the same. The skies have alternated between sunny and warm and overcast and gray, almost white. One day we have snow, the next it's nearly hot. This morning we awoke to a fine dusting of snow, which had fallen on top of a misty midnight rain. As Duncan and I strolled the park, the snow––lighter than pillow feathers––seemed to waft out from beneath our feet as the grass, crusted in a fine layer of ice, rustled like wax paper under the weight of each of our steps. By mid-afternoon the sun toyed with the idea of coming out and the snow melted away. Duncan and I ventured out on the patio where we could watch the low clouds play with the foothills above the park. By sundown, however, the rain and snow were taking turns teasing us and the wind was fiercely cold. We tried to play in The Glen but all either of us really wanted to do was hide. So we came back home to continue unpacking and watching the world do what the world does from our new third story windows.



While I sat in the window and watched a bunny in the yard far below, Duncan sprawled on the couch and outside the trees did what trees do when the snow batters their thick skins.