We watched some March Madness, thankful that we still have power. I sewed colorful things. He worked on taxes. By night, we made a fire in the fireplace, ate comfort food and hoped to see the moon. The night was black, though, clouded and thick, deep in moist cold, brightened only by the house lights on snow. To the fire, we added damp logs that burned red and popped in the fireplace like gunfire.
By morning, a dense blanket has silenced the world. Birds that sang last week hide muted within the heavy-laden branches of evergreens and rabbits huddle underneath. Frogs have gone back into soundless hibernation in the rocks around the pond. There is a break in the flurries and the humble daffodils seem to smile.
The porch rockers are still, ghostly observers to notice the white banks across the valley, the visibility of the forest floor and its contours.
Again as the temperature drops, flurries swirl. The wind howls and we pull up an extra blanket for another night of snow.
I am thinking of cherry blossoms, of dogwoods and rhododendron. This is a different kind of beauty, a different kind of Easter preparation.