The day begins at zero. Where will it go from here? Tried to start the day at 4 but vertigo had other plans. It did not feel cold on the deck, two solar lights casting an almost-out glow: the wooden railing wearing still a glassy sheen. The railing stopped me the other day after I cleaned off the car. She held my hand in place not letting my wet leather glove slide along her face.

     “Colère, why do you come when there is absolutely nothing I can do to change things? Why? Why do you appear when I am weak? You are not helpful! I don’t even like you and yet you are here uninvited trying to get close to me. You scare the dogs.”

     While sitting at my desk yesterday I watched Mariah pull snow from the ground and the trees making it impossible to see anything except white through my window. Several times through the night Mariah screamed waking me. Now she lingers probably out of breath. She’s not asleep. She’s meandering. The eastern horizon has turned on her light to see how to dress the morning.

     Ruger came to my door eager to talk this morning wiggling all over. Did Zsolt and I wake him talking about Chris walking on the roof yesterday? Zsolt did not like the scraping. Ruger wasn’t happy waiting while I tried to open the door which wasn’t easily gliding, which wasn’t easily doing anything. Of course I unlocked it! A few more tugs it was free. 4 more inches of snow through the night, crunchy.

     One sharp bark pierced the depths of sleep. Had there been others blended into my dream? Once that level of consciousness is breached for me there is no going back to sleep. I wanted to, instead I opened my eyes. I could see the blinds, must be close to 5, maybe 6. I listened. Snow was to begin at 4. No more barks. Prayers half said, I got up. As I pulled a shirt over my head a soft bark asked if I was awake, was I almost dressed, did I finish my book before falling asleep, would I tell the story of my dream.

     An orange glow creeps over trees barely touching the snow creating another angle of morning. This view, the view from my desk window has not been touched by sun, I see shades of blue a streak of white, gray trunks, broken limbs leaning on others and green, evergreen so I don’t forget that spring lies under this snow, waits in those tiny buds covering even the tallest branches that Mariah yesterday crashed together like a disappointed child breaking her beloved toys. Perhaps chastised, this morning Mariah plays solemnly. By now Soleil has reached the top of the hill causing drivers to reach for sunglasses or a hat to shade their eyes against her scrutiny. Soleil never looks away. There are not many cars on a February Saturday, content to let their owners sleep they enjoy crisp morning air. I hear no dogs bark, no roosters crow. I only hear silence, and the ringing in my ears.

     Looking at the photo no one could tell it is not a warm day after a summer rain. In their various shapes those raindrops are frozen in place. Perhaps Soleil is of a mood to release them. Underfoot snow topped with rain became a paw and boot print sculpture too heavy to sweep away.

     Not quite awake the day presents gray made brighter by months of snow reflecting the least light. Last night the moon seemed to sit upon a ring of jewels. Luna, magical, presents many optical illusions especially when clouds crowd about her. Does Luna believe that hiding behind trees obscures her? Trees only serve to change her shape; or use her as a lens for their limbs. I wonder if she looks at her pictures and thinks “That’s not what I look like. Must’ve been a bad shot!”

     Luna brings her light to my window unaware insomnolence is already here. The three of us, perhaps a wolf or two could walk for miles in search of sleep. I closed the book when I realized I didn’t know what I’d been reading.

     From the only window she can reach, Soleil shares her light with me refusing an offer of hot coffee. Leaving no imprints in the snow, her companions walk through the woods, climb easily over boulders perhaps stop stand atop to look for landmarks or to see where they’ve been. They even wander around and cross the pond, never losing balance as they walk the length of fallen trees. At times I’ve seen them crowded on the ice as if to hold each other up. I’ve never seen one shivering they don’t wear gloves or winter things. When she leaves, Soleil forbids her companions to stay but while she’s here, she lets them play.

     Creamy peach, a swath breaks the blue of morning creating the illusion of distant mountains none wearing a snowy cap. Soleil paints part of the blinds orange while deciding whether or not to come inside. Mariah quietly plays with the trees. All is calm. All is bright. Like a bored child, Soleil pastes dots on the plaster woman, peels them off, draws lines on curtains.

     Each day it is more like living in the movie Dr. Zhivago except the inside of the house is not coated in winter. The snow again is easily swept my robe quickly getting wet. Birds sing in calming music but not outside. I poured my cold coffee over ice no use trying to keep it almost hot; first time in the microwave, it boiled over.