Or not, precisely. The first crusting of ice dissolved, with no indication that it would return in a hurry. We’ve slipped into the arguably bad habit of not often listening to the radio or watching television or checking out the news on-line. Mostly the world comes to us retroactively by way of a weekend paper, so we didn’t see this freeze coming, though intuition should have flagged it. I suppose because we are in a relatively convenient location that we weren’t bothered.
And Friday, snow.
And so we may treat this enforced incarceration as a rest period. We’re not very good at spending too long in one place so when this happens we have to make ourselves busy, getting on with the still-uncrossed-off things at the top of the dog-eared to-do list. So the Bloke has put an edge on the blades of the chainsaw and cut and split the bigger logs of wood we’ve been carting around, and I’ve been writing letters and catching up on emails, and reassembling the constituent parts of his favourite jumper, and emptying the compost from the bottom tray of the worm bin. Six days on and no sign of the ice melting.
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