I woke Saturday morning to six inches of snow on the ground, a rare occurrence in South Carolina. Everything comes to a screeching halt when the crystalline white fluff covers the roadways. Malls and banks close. Grocery stores sell out of bread and milk, those southern essentials for a winter storm. Everyone who can hunkers down.
It is days like this when I appreciate retirement more than usual. While others may be wondering, especially with a week day storm, whether they have to go to work or not, I get to sit around all day in my pajamas or go out for a winter wonderland walk.
Taking a cue from Jean of JeansGarden.wordpress.com I make an effort to enjoy the shorter days as the sun sits lower in the sky. As a transplanted northerner I can appreciate this brief reminder of Michigan and New York winters knowing that by Monday the southern sun will have melted all but the last remnants of our storm.
In the meantime, there is beef bourguignon bubbling on the stove, fortified by an entire bottle of hearty red wine. What will be baked later into a crusty boule is rising in a glass bowl under a wet towel. Martin is painting. I’m writing. Cats laze around on my lap and the hearth in front of the fire. Birds peck through the snow on the backyard wall in search of sunflower seeds, now buried treasure.
A quiet moment on a quiet day, I’m content to just let it snow.