Brrrrrr . . . . .

Well, we had our first below zero night and it was so hard to crawl out of my nice warm bed at 0430 this morning. And if I needed more proof of how chilly it was, the cats refused to move, even though it was breakfast time and usually they are right at my heels, complaining. The nicest part of the morning was my friend's car that I have use of at the moment - it has a remote start, so when I got in, it was warm and defrosted and perfectly lovely. Too bad Sisters isn't - it's always cool in here because of the people who are exercising, but when you're sitting at the desk doing paperwork and the computer . . . . well, let's just say I'm still wearing my coat!

My landlord is going to try again this weekend to do the drywall in my store room so I can get things out of my entryway. Poor Garry - he's been putting in killer hours at his job the last few weeks.

The Poplar Field by William Cowper

The poplars are felled, farewell to the shade
And the whispering sound of their cool colonnade,
The winds play no longer, and sing in the leaves,
Nor Ouse on his bosom their image receives.

Twelve years have elapsed since I last took a view
Of my favourite field and the bank where they grew,
And now in the grass behold they are laid,
And the tree is my seat that once lent me shade.

The blackbird has fled to another retreat
Where the hazels afford him a screen from the heat,
And the scene where his melody charmed me before,
Resounds with his sweet-flowing ditty no more.

My fugitive years are all hasting away,
And I must ere long lie as lowly as they,
With a turf on my breast, and a stone at my head,
Ere another such grove shall arise in its stead.

'Tis a sight to engage me, if any thing can,
To muse on the perishing pleasures of man;
Though his life be a dream, his enjoyments, I see,
Have a being less durable even than he.