Minus 10

As Jack London wrote in his classic story "To Build a Fire," it sure is cold. Bill reported minus 10 degrees this morning at 5:30. I enjoy these wintry days, though, as long as that wood keeps burning in the stove and the house remains warm.

I even relish the three or four trips to the barn, armed with a bucket of warm water to thaw the "frost-free" hydrant which supplies the horses' trough.

I'll take this any day over those where plus 30 temperature but dank cold pierces my bones to the core.

While walking out the driveway to get the papers, I squeaked along on crunchy snow and gazed upward at our heavenly universe, a deep blue overhead blanket dotted with millions of tiny white stars.

Even in the darkness, the mountains appearing newly washed and so clean, reminded me of those glass-encased wintry scenes where you turn 'em upside down and watch the white particles fall to the surface.

All so beautiful, so pure, so cold.