Woke up this morning to the sound of ice sliding off the metal roof.
"WHAT! was THAT!?," asked Annabel, who had taken advantage of her father's travels to sleep in our bed.
"Ice sliding off the roof," I answered matter-of-factly.
It was cold, the heat hadn't kicked on. Silas was still in a warm little heap between us.
I checked the clock. It was dark and empty.
Nothing to do but dress and leave; maybe there'd be electricity at the babysitter's house. I phoned. Nope. But she's got a fireplace and a gas stove, so there's heat.
Our ghosts -- the ones we'd hung from our two mighty black walnut trees but didn't take down after halloween -- had fallen to the lawn with dozens of tree limbs.
The firetruck had blocked the road so I decided to turn right and see the rest of the neighborhood. Trees and limbs downed everywhere.
"What kind of world is this?" exclaimed Annabel from the backseat. And then she was silent. The whole car was silent for a moment until she answered her own question.
"It looks like a beautiful FROZEN world."