Counting counting 19

Another bitterly cold day. Himself was outside most of the morning sawing wood. As he worked, tendrils of steam curled off his back. Around his feet, the hens inspected his every move. Released from their pen, they have access to the entire garden but choose to linger by the wood pile. Their quick eyes and almost quicker beaks find things to eat. In the woodshed near by, Giddy Dog shivered - not with cold but with excitement as she watched the hens. She knows they are forbidden to her but each scratch, each peck and each step is closely watched.
After lunch the boys wrap up warmly for an afternoon of sledging. I chose to stay behind. Yesterday's walk made me so so cold that my jaw and cheekbone ached for hours afterwards. I having crafting and writing to do, and the lure of the crackling fire and the promise of a mug of tea is enough to keep me home.

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