Going Inkless

     I feel as if I have lost an awful lot of sleep in the last few years, as if catching up on it all would put me out for months.  Sleep in my teen years was feast or famine.  Which side of the covers I was on was decided by what was spinning in my head at the moment, the phase of the moon, or how much coffee I had consumed that day.  It was nothing at all for me to stay up all night writing, down in the basement bedroom I shared with my older sister (then, later with my next youngest.)  I might read long hours into the night as the rest of the house slept if the mood struck me.  On the other hand, each Sunday was chiefly divided between sleeping until about 1 pm and doing my laundry (which later sat in piles-sometimes folded- at the foot of my bed until they found their way into the hamper again.)  Except for the commitment of school, my time was mostly my own, flexible enough that I could stay up or sleep in as fit my mood or creative cycle.  And it all seemed to balance out.  I do

The view this morning was sharp and bright where you could see it.  This is usually the case on the coldest of mornings.  I had meant to capture the winter majesty from an attic window but caught a different kind of winter majesty instead.  Today started out at 16 degrees below zero, Fahrenheit.  (That's -26.6 C if you're reading this from outside the USA)  Most of the world in my immediate vicinity was holed up in their houses, taking an extra long weekend. Monday's forecast was all that people were talking about this weekend.  With wind chill predicted to be 50 degrees below zero (-45.5 C) there were dire warnings of the impending danger and sage advice for coping.  Children and pets should be kept indoors at all costs.  Don't travel unless you have to, and don't even think about doing so without food and water and extra blankets in the car.  Keep your ears, nose, and fingers covered; frostbite only takes minutes to set in.  Sunday evening was spent watchin