Journal Entry – January 11, 2025
Thursday morning, I made the call to stay home from work. The weather reports had been clear all week, and as the first flakes began to fall, I knew it was only going to get worse. The office would likely close early, and there was no sense risking the roads for just a few hours.
The snow came down steadily, blanketing everything in a thick, pristine layer. By mid-morning, it was clear this was going to be more than just a light dusting. Grayson County doesn’t often see this much snow, and the quiet transformation of the landscape felt like something out of a winter postcard.
The day was spent indoors, a rare luxury of stillness. I curled up with a book, the cats draped over the couch like warm, furry cushions. A mid-afternoon nap followed, with the cats keeping close, their contented purring blending into the peaceful atmosphere.
Robert and I wrapped ourselves in blankets and sat on the front porch, watching the snow continue to fall. There was no wind, just a deep, calm quiet that seemed to stretch endlessly. We talked about our land in Oklahoma, wondering if it was blanketed in snow just as heavily as here. The thought of the trees standing tall, their branches heavy with white, connected us to that piece of land we hold so dear.
By Saturday, cabin fever had started to set in, so we ventured out for a walk to the end of the road to test the conditions. The snow had compacted in places, hiding patches of black ice that nearly sent us tumbling. We managed to make it to the end of the paved road without incident, though it was a reminder of how deceptive winter roads can be.
Later that day, we decided to thaw out the car and make a cautious trip into town. The drive to the grocery store was uneventful, though the pristine white snow from earlier in the week was now a dirty mess in the city. Traffic, sand, salt, and thawing snow had turned everything into a mix of gray slush and mud puddles. In the country, the snow was still dotted with the occasional snowman, built by neighbor kids eager to make the most of the rare snowfall.
The grocery store was quiet, with only a handful of people wandering the aisles. Most were picking up essentials, but you could see the occasional “comfort food” items—cookies, chips, and sweets—tucked into their carts. Robert and I stuck mostly to healthy choices, grabbing fresh vegetables, dairy, and meat. Still, we allowed ourselves a splurge: fried chicken from the deli. After several days of cooking every meal at home, we were both ready for a break.
The storm may have disrupted the week, but it also offered moments of peace and reflection, a chance to slow down and enjoy the simple things. As the snow begins to melt and life returns to normal, I’ll carry the memory of those quiet, snowy days with me.
“Winter is the time for comfort, for good food and warmth, for the touch of a friendly hand and for talk beside the fire: it is the time for home.”
— Edith Sitwell
Learn more about Edith Sitwell and check out her her writings and biography.