Woke up this morning at my sister’s house in Kentucky. The moon, still almost full, visible from the window right next to the bed, its light reflecting on the snow as bright as the streetlamp back home, the pin oaks in front making shadows in the white. As the sun came up generations of squirrels boiled out of a hole in the oak to play and find food to sustain them through what promises to be a frigid day. It was one degree as I drove across the Illinois plain yesterday with a wind out of the north, my breath creating frost on the inside of the driver’s side window.
From a walk yesterday afternoon-