I like the silence of snow. It falls with grace and arrives in dignity. It’s in no hurry to leave, either. Unlike its cousin the rain, which splatters and clatters and is always rushing off to get somewhere else, snow sits around, enjoys the view, and waits for the sun.

Well, this weather event is interesting, in that Chinese curse sort of way, may you live in interesting times. All week long I was looking toward today and relief, only to realize last night that we have another round of winter scheduled for today.

Woke up to the sound of snow melt this morning when I went out onto the porch. Our temperature is 33 and promises to go a little bit higher today. We’re still scheduled for hard, cold nights, but it seems the weather picture is shifting back to our favor here in Central Texas.

I made a pot of beans yesterday. Which seems relatively mundane until you realize it took a crock pot eight hours to do it. And yesterday there were people unable to even heat themselves much less run a crock pot for eight hours.

First, I am eternally grateful we still have power. Second, we’ve turned the thermostats down to 58, which isn’t something we do even in the dead of summer.

There’s a picture of a hug on my phone. It’s between me and my late wife. Her left cheek rests on my right breast, the top of her head close to my chin, her face turned to the camera. She’s smiling.

I hate to make a big deal out of something a lot of people experience all the time, but it is getting really cold. It’s going to be a where-were-you-when event.

All my trees and plants are bowed down paying homage to water. It started yesterday with a thunderstorm in 30-degree weather.

Last spring, I transplanted all my schoolhouse flowers. Moved them from the bed in the southeast corner of the yard to new spots around the house. There were enough bulbs that I was able to start three new beds.

As I was going about the business of tidying my yard and porches the other day, I noticed I have an inordinately large collection of broken pottery.

A crescent moon hangs low in the sky on this crisp winter morn. There are deer in the distance and nary a cloud in the sky. The horizon is gold and pink as my piece of earth turns toward the sun.

There’s a lantern in the trees at the end of the clearing behind my house. I can barely see it during the day, but at night it glows softly with a solar powered bulb until the energy gathered during the day is depleted.

I do believe I am victorious in a recent battle in the ongoing gadget war.

I got a dashcam for Christmas, but that’s not the story, just the beginning.

The back porch garden has done well this winter. There are no weeds to speak of and only the blackfoot daisies look dead and gone. All that might need doing this spring is to refresh the mulch and replace the daisies if they fail a spring rebound.

The other morning the heifers gathered along the back fence to eat dead cactus and lounge in the winter sun. It was cool but not cold.

Death came knocking on the family door again. Yesterday, my first cousin once removed, Helen, the daughter of my grandmother’s younger brother, passed away. She blessed the earth with her presence for nearly 88 years.

I felt deflated yesterday. Which is appropriate, I suppose, since I had a needle stuck in my arm on Friday. Up until that point it was all excitement, and I was pumped up like a balloon. Then the deed was done.

Drove into town yesterday, Austin. Queued up. Got my shot. It was the second of the two dose Pfizer COVID-19 vaccine. Drove toward home.