It Was Sunday Morning

Car exhausts linger low in the air and the snow
 has a definite squeaky crunch.
Hoarfrost covers the power lines and fences. You 
KNOW it's cold. The outdoor thermometer registers
8 degrees. I pad around the kitchen in sheepskin slippers,
wearing cotton flannel PJ's from Vermont Country Store
Catalog, as I dish out breakfast for the critters.

"Thank you, thank you." A beautiful cold Sunday that
gives me reason for going back to bed and reading. A
whole glorious day of reading from that exciting pile
of unread books beside my bed. For one thing, I'm
reading my way through the presidents, in no special
order. Look out Jackson, here I come.

I go back in my bedroom and close the door to all
distractions. I snuggle down into a warm comforter and
grab a book from the unread pile. I deserve this.

How was your Sunday?
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Some of my unread pile