We got 14 inches of snow here along the Delaware River last night. The boughs of the evergreens are heaped in white. The air is quiet, and when it moves, it sweeps with it small clouds of sparkling crystals.
Walking in unbroken drifts, you feel the snow shoved cold up along your shins inside your trousers and weighing on the toes of your boots when you lift them.
In the neighborhood, there are the sounds of shovels scraping on walkways, the cheeps of birds swarming feeders, the soft crunch of tires on the plowed street.
It would be a great time to be aboard Robin. There is nothing more cozy than the cabin of a snowed-in sailboat, where the light strains to reach the portholes through a slope of drifted deck snow. The companionway hatch becomes an igloo entrance. The blankets on the berths -- in Robin's case, on the port and starboard settees -- are inviting. Put a cup of warm coffee or cocoa on the saloon table and stack a couple of books there. Make sure there are some seasonal cookies within reach. Then settle back and rock with the wind in the quiet of your snow-muffled cavern.
For now, we imagine this scene. Robin is all alone on the Choptank and we are here, cozy in our cottage in the snow.