the ice traced a pattern on my windshield. your hands traced a circle on my back. warm in the morning cold. i couldnt stop staring at you over the top of my red hardcover. we bookish two, you in your flannels and i in an oversized sweater. tea in the kettle, coffee in the pot. it's all quiet as the rising sun comes pink through the window. snow mutes the sounds. our stockinged feet touch toes across the cushioned span of ugly sofa. the smells of woodstove, dark roast, dusty wool, all soft. the smoke is curling out of the chimney pipes as the bricks heat up. animals begin to wake and move about in their stalls. it is nearly time to begin the day's work. joy rings from the corners of the small house. simple economics.