Snow Flakes-Longfellow

Out of the bosom of the air, out of the cloud-folds of her garments shaken, over the woodlands brown and bare, over the harvest-fields forsaken, Silent and soft and slow descends the snow.
Even as our cloudy fancies take suddenly shape in some divine expression, even as the troubled heart doth make in the white countenance confession, the troubled sky reveals the grief it feels.
This is the poem of the air, slowly in silent syllables recorded; this is the secret of despair, long in its cloudy bosom hoarded, now whispered and revealed to wood and field.

A time for quilting...

My frame is placed in the front-room parlor of our old house where it is the sunniest and warmest. Sometimes, my tuxedo cat Tibbits, hops up to take a quick nap, but not for long!

Winter thoughts

Winter has settled in and so has the family. This old Victorian creaks and groans with each blast of arctic air. I dread the thought of going outside even for the most mundane of tasks as it takes me forever to get warm again. I keep the wood stove stoked while the kids are in school and it helps to keep the furnace from running, but the mess is incredible... blankets of dust envelope the entire house. A small price to pay to keep warm!