January has brought our first real snowstorm. It is so fresh and lovely.

The Japanese maple leaves on My Red Tree had never quite let go this past autumn. Now they are heavily laden with fluffy clumps, soon to drop their snow-bombs off on the heads of unsuspecting people (essentially, that will be me).

The consistency of the downfall becomes finer, but continues steadily. I wake up early and scoop some from the back railing in order to make the Annual Celebratory First Snowfall maple syrup snow-slushy.

The plows have not come through yet. Bundling little Rudi up in his winter jacket, we realize upon leaving the house that the snow is over his head. He stops short at the edge of the The Urban Porch. “Nope!” Little Dog Problems. I stomp through the depth in the front yard, carrying him down to where a zealous neighbor has already cleared their sidewalk, to find a spot where he can relieve himself.

For me, a snow day means going inward. Winter Solitude. Getting into some cozy clothes. Perhaps a little bit of cooking or baking. I’ll make the weekly Dutch Baby for breakfast – probably a blueberry one. Prepare some more granola for the week. Enjoy soothing hot tea. Read. Okay – guiltily do a few productive chores too – laundry, cleaning the bathroom. As always, fresh, quiet snowfall brings on deeply thoughtful reflections.

They say in the next few days it should all be melted.

Winter solitude –

In a world of one color

The sound of wind.

– Matsuo Bashō