11 December 20XX+1
My Dear Lucilius:
Day 3 of the Snowstorm
The constant snowfall has deadened somewhat from the previous two days to at least a manageable wash of snow which has paced itself to a slow, meandering fall punctuated by flurries. I cannot tell you the full amount it has dropped, my guess would easily be three feet or more.
The paths around the house have become gullies, passages between the greenhouse and outhouse and around the house. It has not been so bad during the day: every two hours or so I go out and stamp everything down and rake the roof. It has been enough that in the morning, there is a credible amount to clear, but not an impossible amount.
Apparently to counterbalance the declining snowfall, the wind has picked up.
You cannot imagine the wind on this snow. It howls and yowls and pushes the snow along as if it were piles of dust or pet hair driven by a fan inside a house. Seeing the it hurl the snow hither and yon, one begins to understand the fear of being caught alone in a snowstorm in the plains. Here it moves the snow back and forth, piling it up against side of The Cabin before pulling it away again. It remains the constant voice beyond the low murmur of the fire, a mocking and yet playful voice as it both brings the cold and makes the snow into vortexes and swirls.
Other than the in and out activity of making trails (which I begrudge every time I have to open the door and heat leaks out), there is not a great deal that can be done. Read. Watch the fire. Huddle under blankets. Drink tea.
Solitaire, Lucilius. I have played solitaire with a deck of cards for the first time in I cannot remember how long.
Sitting here in the encroaching darkness with nothing but the fire for light, I begin to appreciate how lonely the prairie must have been in Winter.
Your Obedient Servant, Seneca
