The moon is visible in the crispy blue sky, peeking through the decrepit branches of the tree across the way. Pointy drifts of snow dot the lawn like waves, and the bushes and plants sleep in white sweaters. I pop out the door, shivering , and proceed to perform a precarious balancing act wherein I acquire my boots without stepping in the snow that blankets the door mat. Face freezing, I grab some hot water, and hurry out to the barnyard. With the appearance of industry, I quickly try to defrost the chicken water and get on to the rest of my chores. No such luck. I resign myself to 15 minutes in the frozen world. After 40 minutes of defrosting drinks, scraping snow, filling feed, spreading snacks, and collecting cartons of eggs, I scamper to the house. As I enter the warm room, my glasses fog up. I pull off my coat and sweater, and dive onto my bed. Immediately I spring back up, and bounce around the house, attempting to warm up. Finally I finish my bouncing, and subside onto my bed to chronicle my adventure. I didn't freeze! Take that, you bad snow! Snow is most certainly not my friend: I didn't get that dumb chicken water unfrozen.
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