over the woodlands brown and bare

I watched one of the 'last' season episodes of Anthony Bourdain the other night. It might have been my imagination but he seemed not quite himself, more detached and uncomfortable with what was going on. He was in Spain with one of his chef friends, a bigger than life personality that took over the show - was he over compensating for something? The program was put together after Tony's suicide and didn't have his entertaining and insightful commentary. It rang hollow. And emphasized his absence. Maybe I wouldn't have noticed these differences if I didn't have the lens of knowlege.

It was hard to watch.  I have several more episodes on the PVR and will be taking it slowly.

The snow came and I'd like to say went, but alas it still lays white and cold, covering the brown earth. Birds flock around the bird feeder, getting some warming fat from the black sunflower seeds. There is ice in places on the laneway. Carm snowblowed. Winter is here - early.

Pat came over for supper Saturday night, straight from the ski hill where she helped with a swap meet. There are only 47 days left till she'll be making our house her home (note to self: get a drawer emptied in the spare bedroom). Speaking of spare bedroom, the suitcase is spralled open on the floor. I've started trying on a few things to make sure things still fit :-0 I'm not sure if the dogs have noticed - perhaps they are used to these shenanigans and they don't associate the suitcases with us leaving.

In the same vein, I've been having fun with 'MyCloset' app. I've figured out almost everything that I'll wear on our trip. Call me crazy, but it's fun.

"Out of the bosom of the Air,
Out of the cloud-folds of her garments shaken,
Over the woodlands brown and bare,
Over the harvest-fields forsaken,
Silent, and soft, and slow
Descends the snow."
~Henry Wadsworth Longfellow