Flurrying

Bugs scurry. People hurry. Only snow flurries.

Smart bugs and people scurried and hurried all day to escape bitter cold. When I woke at 4:30 AM, the temperature was 11 degrees according to my thermometer. At 10, it was 16. Right now, at 5:13 PM CT, it's 22, just about as high as it got.

All the while snow flurried, sometimes lightly, sometimes heavily, making tiny ice prints wherever flakes landed. I was content to see the swirling snow-wind beyond the windows -- kitchen, shop, car -- and stay mostly inside, enjoying cleaning accompanied by scattered chatter and beautiful music (thanks to the Chicago Symphony), preparing and smelling fresh sausage and lentil soup, reviewing papers online, drinking hot tea by the potful.

Silent snow still flurries and whips sidewise in wind in my otherwise silent neighborhood, all gone home now to nest.