Cold has arrived in the most crisp and magical way: frosted ferns on morning glass, frozen ponds for skating, moose eating snow in the front yard at two in the morning. The cold beckons us to come outside into the crisp, fresh air. But, after awhile, the warmth of a hearth and steaming mug of something delicious call us back inside. Here, cozy in practical socks, there is quieted time for rooted dreams: vivid (re)collection of whole possible worlds.
