The years have blurred a little.
I measure time by the cycles, where are we on this turning?
but how many of them have gone ’round… that is not so clear.
It’s gorgeous snow, though,
so that’s all to the good.
Snow makes a muffling stillness, calling me into the darkest days with
Peace,
Sleep,
Rest herein.
Lookst, she says, I have made thee a blanket.