It's icy cold by the door and beyond the still darkened windows. The north wind howls in our eavestroughs, and clouds of snow blow up the street, illuminated by the still shining street lamps. This morning's aches, nausea and fatigue are to be expected from time to time when one is tripping lightly from chemo session to chemo session in the depths of winter.
There is a cauldron of Tuscan bean soup coming together nicely on the stove, a blue bowl of clove studded (and probably very fragrant) clementines on the table nearby, a steaming mug of tea in hand and Mozart (The Magic Flute) on the sound system. I can't smell the soup, the clementines or the cloves, but my imagination fills in the gaps, and the colors are lovely. Soon, there will be sunlight coming through the kitchen window.
As I tottered around the house a few days ago, shivering and draped in every warm shawl I own, a friend appeared on the threshold with two excellent books to engage these shivery hours indoors. I am blessed indeed.Thank you, Jane!