I check on the weather again.
The snow continues to sift down onto the dark green branches of the sheltering pines.
The sugary powder frosts the spikes of the picket fence with icy whites in the frigid air.
The crushed gravel path from the garden gate is salted but still slippery.
The days are shortening as Christmas approaches.
Add a little vanilla and a dash of chocolate and this snowfall would make a fine dessert.
I chuckle at the fanciful thought, mentally checking the contents of our larder.
When the children awake from their afternoon nap, it's time to bake.