What I wrote yesterday:
Snowed In. Contented
By Vijaya Sundaram
The wind howls down the street, blowing drifts of snow back on the steps, no doubt, and the dog barks in response. She suspects the wind as being an entity that’s up to no good. She’s a mysterious dog, and has deep thoughts of her own, none of which she’ll share with us, although her almond eyes gaze unwinkingly at me when I stare into them. Then, she looks away, somewhat embarrassed at such intimacy, no doubt. Her love, however, is absolute.
My daughter is making a “family tree” of various important cats in the Warriors series. She is into family trees, it appears. I love what it implies about her need to know the history of things, and also her need to create sequences. She’s always been a list-maker, and a lover of lists since she was very little.
The smell of Biryani masala wafts up the stairs – rice and mixed veggies and tofu are on the stove.
I love my husband.
He’s lovely.
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