The plan was quite simple: I was going to sit on the sofa for a few moments in a quiet house on a Sunday afternoon and read the latest. Then, I was going to busy myself with one of a number of things that were wildly waving at me from the to-do list.
But. Oh my. The pillows were lusciously puffy, the wool was soak-into-you warm, the skies beyond the glass were low and gray and stormy, and it was so, so quiet…
I awoke one hour later (ahem).
Clearly, things weren’t going as planned, here. So, I slipped out from under the blanket just long enough to grab a clementine. Back to the couch; back to the covers. There I lounged, slowly peeling, slowly eating, section by little section, that mid-winter sweet, looking out the wide window at those low gray skies that were now spitting snow. The neighbor man across the creek was splitting and stacking his firewood. I was sitting on the sofa with a clementine.
It was wonderful.
