Old Man Winter gave us a sharp flick of his icy finger this past week.
We had the first real snow of the season at our elevation of 480 m (1570 ft) in the foothills of the Jura mountains.
I decided that leaving the house is an overrated activity, put on another sweater and an extra pair of socks, and sat inside, feeling guilty about all the garden work I haven’t yet completed.
The cats took up all the space on the bed, the first load of wood was hauled in for the fireplace, and the first batch of winter squash soup was cooked out of necessity because anything else would have required leaving the house and as stated above, that had already been ruled out as a voluntary option.
Today, though, the snow is all but gone, and I have no excuse not to go out and do the garden tasks that await. The cats, of course, will continue to do what they do best.