SNOW

It’s 6am on the first Sunday of the year. I’m in my flannel nighty and two pairs of socks, cozied up on the sofa, under my Irish wool blanket, with a cup of cocoa, watching winter turn my neighborhood into a frosted gingerbread picture postcard. 

The snowflakes are fat and starting to pile up. Sadly, they are sticking to the road as well, but at this moment, I have no where better to be.