“When the snow flies and the night falls, there’s a light in the window, and a place called home at the end of the storm . . . .”
—Judy Collins, The Blizzard
Dark had fallen while Aly and I were in town, her for a meeting, me to mail a few autographed copies of my new book. We had already hauled in a load from the car earlier in the day, but I froze my fingers sorting and packing a second load while waiting for Aly to finish. The drive to town on the “toy” spare had been rather hair raising, the attempt to make contact with the recommended tire shop futile. With the coming dark, headlights glinted evilly on the road ice. The drive home promised to be far worse. Continue reading
