Outside.

its kind of funny how the soft click click tap of sleet hitting a bedroom window can become slightly therapeutic and rhythmic while it causes so much havoc outside the comfortable confinement that we call our home. It paces the rhythm for our ongoing lives; ebbs, weaves, --pushes us forward. But outside, the maples buds are killed, severed by the bitter frost; the newest signs of life are frozen, only to shed half emerged bulbs because of the ice's petrification. growth is stunted for another day. what reason is there to pray for ice when it endangers our chances at healthy lives more than it brings us recreation.