We've got big plans for this year. At the top of my list is a stairway that goes from the first floor to the new second floor - on the inside of the house. Right now we're using a ladder - from the outside of the back of the house [and over the mudroom roof] and it's rather hard to move big things up that way.
In the grand tradition of the blog, here is a New Year sonnet. Because every new year should start with some bad poetry. Don't you think? [Others sonnets are here.]
A quiet silken winter day of ice
And snow. So still. Devoid of any burst
Of movement, any fluttered wing. Twice
A liar is a frosty day. The first:
A blanket, spun of fallen snow. But one
most frigid, stilling life into a deep
Eternal sleep. The second: winter sun.
The harlot star does not her promise keep
To warm and nurture life. She offers nothing
But an icy, blinding glare. Or shrouds
Entire behind the mourning drap’ry swathing
Sky. Yet ice will melt. Below the clouds
Sleeps deep, not dead, with expectation rife,
Yes, there, beneath, inside, at last, still, - Life.