Usually the first snow we get in the Berkshires melts before it even hits the ground. To my surprise, the snow that arrived Tuesday has stuck around, literally. The raking of the yard and cutting back of the gardens has come to a frozen halt. David built a toasty warm fire in the fireplace last night, and Adam and I sat close, with our rocking chairs pulled right up to the hearth. I was knitting, he was looking at his book about dinosaurs. David, cozied on the couch with Miriam, was reading aloud Philip Pullman's The Subtle Knife. Although I'm a bit reluctant to welcome winter, I must say that if more evenings end up like this one, it shouldn't be too difficult to survive the season of turning within.