Yesterday, I gave you a peek at what Brother Dear was up to under that blazing Glacier County sun.  I tend to leave the plowing and shuffling of cars to him.  This is by mutual agreement – were I to help, he would simply spend his days digging me out of whatever ditch I’d gotten myself into.

So I went for an inspection of the back 40 yesterday.  I drank in the silence and cornflower blue skies and sparkle of the fluffy snow.  I listened to my heart beating loudly in my ears, and tried to remind myself that it’s pumping for two these days, that I am not suddenly terribly out of shape and unable to survey my own backyard.  I sucked in deep breaths as I struggled through the hip deep snow, and heard ice crystals hit my bronchial tubes.  And I rejoiced that It’ll will grow up under this impossibly huge sky, even though s/he will more than likely take said sky completely for granted.

But oh, how I hope not:

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