The frozen sky spits out a combination pack of snowflakes: huge, miniscule, fat, puffy, wispy, deflated. Something for everyone, except me. I am ready for spring; curmudgeonly winter with his ridiculous whims needs to go away. Back to yesterday, or last week. Back to when he was wanted, appreciated, welcomed.

Snowy day, snowy day.

I have no energy, just a belly full of decadent food and a gaping need for a long, warm nap.

Creme Brulee French Toast.

Goodnight, all. I’ll write tomorrow.