Snowed last night. Woke up to the fields white and dark brown in patches like those frosted ginger cookies you get at the grocery store. I’m sitting at the glass-topped table by the kitchen window as I write this. On the table is a black cat with yellow eyes. He sits and stares out at the little gray birds pecking for seeds in the snow and soil. Then he shuts his eyes and—still sitting up, though head bowed just so—he sleeps. What a lucky thing to have the time to stare out a window at the winter sky and the snowy fields and then say, “Well, what’s next?” Well?
PPS. Kind words from
about the books.