From 23F to 30F: freezing rain. Sounds like sandstorm against the window. My daughter watches a new program about a boy with amnesia and no belly button, and I hand-sew the smokestack to a Christmas stocking train.
In a month or so, much will change (if I believe the real estate professionals): we could be re-nested before Ground Hog Day.
Yesterday, going to work, a young buck leaped right in front of my car. I caught his eye, and he mine as he decided to fly over our road, about five feet from my moving car. It took my breath away, literally. (Some of you know, that since moving into this house four and a half years ago, I have asked quietly and regularly to see deer as proof that someone is listening.) Last Christmas Eve just before reaching our driveway, on my way home to fetch forgotten gifts, a mature doe leaped out of the preserve across the street and wide-eyed, reared on hind legs, twisting into her lightening retreat.
I love signs.