Write about: the revival.
Because I had to light the fireplace this morning, it was so bloody chilly in the house. Had really hoped we were past that by now.
Made some progress in the garden today with weeding and mulching. Would have rather been planting tomatoes out, but the weather has decided we'll be doing that next week instead.
Right now I'm just hoping the forecast for Saturday drastically improves, otherwise we might be skipping the market. Which would suck, considering how many seedlings we still have to sell.
It grew cold from neglect, forgotten as the heat of summer made spring promises we should not have believed. An obstacle in the midst of our home, its accoutrements potential hazards for a baby learning to crawl. Nothing more.
But one night the cold within was matched by the cold without. We came shivering before it, begged forgiveness as its doors creaked open. We filled it with paper and wood, making assurances that it would not be ignored so eagerly again.
It grumbled, breathed black smokey threats. Turned away from our entreaties and refused to perform its usual duties. The cold settled into the walls, into our bones. Panic slipped through the cracks around the doors and grasped at our ankles.
But at last the fire caught and warmth was restored, one burning log at a time.