Any Port in a Storm

It's 3:30 on Saturday afternoon. I just finished a deep cleaning of our bathroom. I like to tackle one room at a time, going through every nook and cranny and over every surface in detail at least once a year. It keeps the clutter down, and I get a refresher course on what we have in this house.

I'd just put away the cleaning implements when it started snowing. We've enjoyed a nearly-shoveling-free week—something our tired bodies desperately needed.

But even that respite is not enough to make anyone jump for joy at the prospect of new snow in any appreciable amount.

Not even this mourning dove. It's hunkered down on our bird feeder and looks to remain there for the duration.

It looks like how I feel. I need to go play with colorful fabric.