The wee hours of a winter morning.

There is something incredibly calm about a snowy winter early morning just before the sun comes up. Amazing how quiet it is... deafeningly quiet... as if winter is trying to make a point.

I might be going a little stir-crazy. Or perhaps I am just adjusting to hibernation with less patience than other animals who are used to a long winter's sleep. Since New Year's Eve when we went out for a little celebration, I have only ventured out once... to the bank and grocery store. I go out to the mailbox once a day, and take the dogs out a lot to run around, but I don't get much farther than that. I tried yesterday, but realized that the roads are no fun to drive on, and the nut cases are no fun to drive beside, so I postponed my lunch date and will try again soon.

Could the point be some time for reflection? simplicity? humility? a chance to catch up on old TV reruns?

By the way, Kevin and I tried to watch Monty Python's "The Meaning of Life" last night and hated it.