Whites of January—tinged with blue.
I draw back the curtains to the cawing of crows, the papery bark of birches, the tracks of deer under the crabapple tree below our window.
The quilt looks like the landscape in the meadow, puckered and pocked after last night’s rains.
The days are lengthening. I love that about January—the shift after the dark afternoons of December seems so quick and so promising.
More white in the forecast for Thursday.