and the wan, watery light of a January sun passing low across the sky,
disrobed trees sillouetted against a raw, washed out, white backdrop
W is for waiting; waiting for the light to widen, for days to stretch out again.
And this year W is also for warm, and the W words that make it so.
Like wool, lots of wool. Wool socks, sweaters and hats. But most importantly for the lofty wool comforter under which I spend my nights. Who knew wool would make such a difference. It warms up quicker and more thoroughly than cotton, down, or synthetic duvets. I don't even rely on my beloved hot water bottle as much. In past winters it was mandatory, now it is pure luxury. And this is where the blanket of warmth and well being came from. St. Peter Woolen Mill.
Morso, and this is where it came from Homestead Stove.
I hope you are warm.
PS And of course W stands for wet, but since I have belabored that point on several occasions I will refrain from doing so this time.