It was cold—9˚F (-12˚C) by the deckside thermometer—when I got up at 6:00 a.m., added a fresh log to the fire, and let Moon-the-dog out for her pre-sunrise constitutional. And though the day since proved sunny and very bright, thanks to all the snow on the ground, even now—at what would typically be midafternoon's temperature high-point—we've still barely reached 17˚F (-8˚C); not much of a warming-up.
Frankly, I'm glad I needed to stay in and work at my desk. Inside is a good place to be. The woodstove has a nice fire burning and is pumping out heat. And if I'd somehow have managed to not be so regularly distracted, my work would now be done.
Alas, I'm a sucker for distractions.
Sometimes I was purely bewitched by the beauty of sunlight streaming through honey-brown box elder samaras, which still cling in multitudes to the branches of riverside trees.
Alternately, I'd find my thoughts interrupted by the gabbing and honking of Canada geese, who decided to spend the day lolling about the pool and riffle directly in front of the cottage—and my window view.
But worst of all has been the kettle of sausage-and-potato soup bubbling on top of the woodstove. Garlic, onions, and fresh-chopped herbs add to the fragrant meld, as everything slow-cooks toward savory perfection. A streaming pot of strong coffee, on the ledge behind, is holding just shy of a simmer, its rich aroma another note to the mix.
Predictably, these heady cooking smells now have me positively convinced I'm on the brink of starvation. A false notion, I admit, but one I'm unwilling to ignore much longer. Not that I ever ignore good eats. Still, I had hoped to get my work finished, then take the time to bake a skillet of spicy corn bread, before succumbing.
I may not be capable of such self-discipline.
Ah, well…it won't be the first time I've been delightfully victimized by irresistible temptation.