Journal: Thursday, December 5

I’ve had a string of good luck over the last few days: a package of artwork that had gone astray in New York City finally found its way to the intended recipient, who is delighted with the pictures; a possible complication to Hartley’s spay surgery cleared up on its own; I was able to get a fresh supply of propane for the cabin heater mere hours before the roads closed and the truck would have been unable to reach me; we’ve had no interruption in our electricity all day, despite the ice storm outside … All in all, it’s been a good week so far.

Despite that, I find that the sleet and freezing rain outside, the darkness, the sense of isolation, is wearing on me today. Winter storms like the one we’re experiencing tonight and tomorrow seem to increase the distance between towns, between houses, between people, between the lighted windows in the dark.

Snow I can handle: snow is different, lighter, more like a natural expression of natural forces; but ice … ice is sinister, destructive. Snow reflects the light, ice absorbs it; snow shelters the birds and beasts, ice paralyses them, crushes them, smothers the spark.

We have tonight and tomorrow to contend with — that’s all — and then the sky will begin to clear. Temperatures will still be brutally cold, but at least there won’t be all this ice falling everywhere. Another week after that, and temps will work their way back above freezing.

I think I’m just going to pull the covers over my head and hibernate until then.