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Saturday's in their lethargic complexion of grey metallic, lined with icy bits of winter abeyance are days most unkind.
Mantled in dark settings, the browns of the house reflecting a wooden shade of weak yellow light makes this dwelling look like an alcove; a safe house with tiny spots of cozy warmth, that is beginning to darken under receding sunlight or whatever flimsy excuse for light this weekend is ready to offer.
In this penetrating snap of refrigerated chill, when hearts stay frost bitten and words algid, the numbing air is transformed into an arctic glaze of thin rain morphed into sleet, falling in transparent sheet.
Bravo!