Sunday, November 3, 2013
There's ice outside on the porch to my lonely eyrie. It's quiet here, and still. The countertops are cold, the floor soaks up the heat from my feet, and the air is cool. I can hear the sounds of the house, and it seems the house is the most talkative between us. I get to return to my own little busy home today, and I will be quiet glad of it! It may be worn and threadbare, but it is cozy and solid, and there are nothing of the whispers of empty woods.