Snowy days always push me into the warm embrace of my favorite armchair by the window.
A hot cup of coffee, half a cinnamon bagel, toasted, and spread with cream cheese set the morning mood.
The cat straddles my lap, hogging the blanket as he stretches. He's 20-years young and old-age deaf, but still vibrates with a loud purr when stroked. In the silence of his world, the vacuum cleaner is no longer terrifying.
He's never been outside to walk or stalk the untamed wilds. He thrives indoors, living in this enclosed artificial earthship, called our house. Watching birds still makes his tail twitch and excites a short chatter of squeaky chirps.
One dog curls around my ankles with his grey grizzled muzzle resting warmly on my toes, the other patrols the inside windows along the deck in search of wily usurpers.
I shoot birds through the window from the calm of my armchair. I lock their beauty in memory, frozen in time, for my pleasure.
The finches hide their daffodil yellows and rich raspberry purples under faded winter-drab cloaks. In this season my sun starved eyes crave cheerful colors.