We have come quietly into this new year, resting a lot, reading, watching movies both in theater and on television, eating soup and scalloped potatoes and ham and good egg-and-hash-or-bacon breakfasts and the last loaf of Jule Kage, and clementines to give us a pop of citrus.
T went back to work today; I did too with routine chores and other responsibilities. It's business as usual after a long weekend of rejuvenation.
We have fairy rings all over the property since the big rains: mushrooms are ringing trees and popping up in the low places. And it's been chilly -- we had snow mixed in the with New Year's Eve rain, and the new year's morning saw snow on the car and roof, although nothing much on the ground. The woodstove has kept us warm though, and the kitties lounge on their tuffets in front of it and sleep away the days.
January has never been my favorite month: it's a letdown after the bright holidays, and a month of cold winter. And yet the 15th marks eight years since we moved into our house and left the Bay Area, and there are always a few days that give us a taste of the February spring that waits so patiently. And I'm not eager for winter to pass, truth be told: I greatly prefer the cold and rain to the desperate sun-scorching days of high summer.
But this is my year of renewal, and I have tasks to do to prepare the way. I'll take it accident-free, thank you, in either sun or rain, heat or cold.