The dogs don't complain. We're still cutting our trail to the river with snow shoes, which means they are up to their knees in deep snow and frigid wind chill. But, I'm concerned for them and head home after less than a half hour of hard going. It's dangerous to remove my gloves to snap photos - but I can't resist this tiny and bright dry blossom with browned edges on the frozen snow. Indoors, by the fire, I continue to try and develop a new poem to take to my Monday night group. It's in a phase where I could give up on it entirely; I'm trying to hang in there see what it might become.
