It took sun, wind, rain and 10 days for the snow to melt. I say melt, but walking, I still found pockets. That's what this week is all about...pockets of winter and not much else. The tread that was that fresh crunch of snow, went through the sliding slush, to become now cold cedar-stained mud.
And things begin to freeze. Whereas the rain was an inconvenience with the typewriter, now the cold sets in. I put on more layers. I write in shorter bursts and walk to keep warm. Even my sailing socks, with a layer of reflective blanket sewn in cannot keep the cold out. Agnes complains and drills holes in the paper in one spot, refusing to advance. I know how she feels. Every thought is encased in ice and must be cracked loose and named with a fumbling cold brain.