Dove colored dawn...

 The sun rose, heavily filtered through snow-laden clouds. The view was shades of grey from my pillow, inside and out.

 I made the bed, started laundry, and lit a fire. Fed the cats. Carried feed and water to the chickens, grain, and hay to the goats. 

Bravo retrieved a lost glove. Gleefully. 

The snow was light and easy to shovel, clinging to every branch and wire. 

Only one customer braved the snow. "Isn't it a beautiful day?" she asked.  Indeed. 

I filled the bird feeders more than once. The deedling voices of the chickadees and the sweet call of the goldfinches rose over the whirring of their wings. 

From inside, I watched the flakes fall, listened to the fire hiss, and the logs sighed and shifted.  Chris worked from home. I could hear the timbre of his voice as he answered phone questions, patiently untangling problems. The wheels on his office chair rumble through the ceiling, reminding me I am not alone. After a romp in the snow, the dogs settle close to me, dreaming. 

There is a hush and sensation of slowing on a snowy day. It calls for rest, and I answer.