Here where I write

From my writing room, I can hear the wind filter through the bamboo wind-chimes that are hanging from the Maple tree below. It’s been raining all week here, non-stop. Sometimes ferociously, sometimes not. It doesn’t seem to be as cold today. Cold, but not as cold as it was last week when the pipes froze and I had no water for a day.

I find myself alone again as the spousal unit is off somewhere earning a living. Of course, Ozzy is by me, laying at my feet and wondering, I’m certain, what it is that I do here. Every so often, he’ll stand, put his face to my chest and stare-up at me. Then, having received no satisfactory answers to his telepathic queries, returns to his warm spot with an audible sigh.

We are just a matter of days in front of the Winter Solstice which begins on December 21st , and I am so looking forward to this year’s invitation. Winter has a competitive edge that isolates, and in so doing, generates an amazing joie de vivre. I can hardly wait for the affair with winter to begin.

View from my front window

in

Bloomingdale, Illinois