To finish Thursday’s sleep-in somewhere like this. Bury limbs under heavy quilts that smell like pine. Prop ourselves up on pillows, rest the spines of books on each others backs. Lost in scarves, hats, mittens, if we need them. Later, two steamy lattes in hand, walk whiskey down the long road to the pace of a river nearby. Dinner under a roof of salvaged wood. Sleep without sound or light.
Thanks for all your tips on the gumboots. They will come in handy.