The skies cleared for a moment today after a couple of days of cold rain and occasional small hail. The mountain tops are gleaming white with snow and the pastures are frosted. Tonight the pipes may freeze as what little heat we have radiates into space. In the noon day sun the soaked old wooden fences are steaming as they exhale water they absorbed yesterday.

The old iron wood stove greedily consumes my dwindling pile of squaw wood that accumulated over the summer. It falls from the trees whenever the wind blows hard - self-pruning is the old joke - and I haul it up to the pile near the bunkhouse. Then, in winter, I burn it in the stove. Days like today renew the old affection for radiant heat. It's a comfort to mind and body in a time when there are few others.

It's enough.