Another morning comes and snow falls again, or still. In the middle of winter is when I feel that it will always be here. The cold, the wind, the white. The icy feet, the blankets, the scarves, the boots. I remember spring, summer and fall but the memory is distant and quickly receding, like a dream once awake.

I don’t know why, but winter is my time to sew, stitch, and knit. Perhaps I need to see color and hold soft things in my hands…