Bedtime found me crawling in between the feather mattress and the down comforter. On top of the down comforter is a heavy quilt, made of dancing circles of colors. My bed looks like something out of a novel from the pioneer days.
The house is dark and the wind is howling outside. Sleep seems to be escaping me and although I was toasty warm, I felt a shiver just thinking about how cold it is outside the thick walls of our little home. In the darkness of my room, I can see the reflection of the flames from the woodstove door through the doorway, flickering on the shinny wood floor of my room. It seems so old fashioned this life of ours. Like the reading of The Long Winter by Laura Wilder. A huge stack of wood in my living room. My daughter sleeping with a wool cap on her head. Mounds of blankets and quilts on each bed. A woolen shawl, casually cast over the back of my rocker, not a decoration, but a item of warmth and comfort. Before bed a quick tour of the barns to make sure all the critters were well bedded down for the winter storm. A whiff of burning oak seeps in through the window frame, not cold, but comforting. Some might see this life as backward and unnecessary in this modern world, but to us, its living in touch with what is real and simple. Its as though we are not as cluttered and bogged down with the things that stress the modern person. This moment of watching the reflection of the dancing flames from the stove is priceless. So much so that I had to hop out of bed and write about it. Engrave it with words so I would not forget its simple pleasure. It was joyful to see that golden glow on my dark wooden floors, as though they were golden yellow and orange northern lights dancing on a mahogany sky. Central heat doesn't give you such a moment.
I am content. The wind is blowing pretty good out there right now and its whistling and rattling the glass in the window. Guess its time once again to climb those two little steps into my bed and pull all those covers up around my neck. Maybe I will keep my wool socks on for the night !
The house is dark and the wind is howling outside. Sleep seems to be escaping me and although I was toasty warm, I felt a shiver just thinking about how cold it is outside the thick walls of our little home. In the darkness of my room, I can see the reflection of the flames from the woodstove door through the doorway, flickering on the shinny wood floor of my room. It seems so old fashioned this life of ours. Like the reading of The Long Winter by Laura Wilder. A huge stack of wood in my living room. My daughter sleeping with a wool cap on her head. Mounds of blankets and quilts on each bed. A woolen shawl, casually cast over the back of my rocker, not a decoration, but a item of warmth and comfort. Before bed a quick tour of the barns to make sure all the critters were well bedded down for the winter storm. A whiff of burning oak seeps in through the window frame, not cold, but comforting. Some might see this life as backward and unnecessary in this modern world, but to us, its living in touch with what is real and simple. Its as though we are not as cluttered and bogged down with the things that stress the modern person. This moment of watching the reflection of the dancing flames from the stove is priceless. So much so that I had to hop out of bed and write about it. Engrave it with words so I would not forget its simple pleasure. It was joyful to see that golden glow on my dark wooden floors, as though they were golden yellow and orange northern lights dancing on a mahogany sky. Central heat doesn't give you such a moment.
I am content. The wind is blowing pretty good out there right now and its whistling and rattling the glass in the window. Guess its time once again to climb those two little steps into my bed and pull all those covers up around my neck. Maybe I will keep my wool socks on for the night !
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