View from my porch yesterday, May 15, 2015
There is a quiet up here after it snows. Interrupted only by the occasional squabble of the birds at the feeder, a scolding from the squirrel My knitting needles clicking. The fire crackling. The slide of snow off the roof.
The footprints in the snow are mine, coming and going to bring in wood or feed the birds. The other prints are from the other creatures that belong here.
This is what sobriety looks like to me. Quiet. Unsullied by unnecessary trodding and stomping around. Unbroken by relentless unnecessary babble.
Only me and the creatures that belong here.
