Winter's breath in Well now

Sitting in my study,
the portable heater at my feet,
still wearing my faux shearling coat and fluffiest knit scarf,
typing to warm up my frozen fingers.

I keep the house cool in the wintertime, yes,
but my current frostiness is not from that.
I’ve just come in from outside,
turning on the outside spigots to drip through the night.
It’s an unprecedented fourth night of sub-freezing weather out there
and this is an aging raised house with exposed pipes.
The water has to dribble tepid from every tap
or it’s the plumbing apocalypse for me.

It wouldn’t be so bad if the skitter sisters hadn’t stolen my gloves.
Apparently warm fluffy gloves make the bestest of cat toys.
I found the right one underneath a very proud conquering Esme earlier
and then stopped the search. That pair of gloves had reached the end of its usefulness.
Somehow two of the fingers of the captured right glove had gotten themselves all unraveled.
Hmmmm. I wonder how that happened.

Oh well, fingers mostly thawed now,
I think I’ll slip out of my outerwear and turn on the rest of the indoor taps.
Honestly, I don’t mind the winter weather.
I like to layer and bundle and sleep snug.
It’s just the constant house worry that drives me nuts.
The windowdrafts and the stone counters cold enough
to lay out bodies don’t bother me much at all.
It’s the listening all night to running water singing songs of potentially ice damaged pipes…

This cold is getting real old.