The wind is sharper and the birds flock more aggressively around the feeder. It's not quite cold enough to hold the snow, but snow has fallen off and on. In the mornings after it snows, the light of day reflects into my bedroom with a clear brilliance that I don't have the skill to describe to anyone who has never seen it. It's like moonlight, if the moon glowed gold and platinum instead of cold silver. The cats' faces wrinkle up when the sliding door opens to let them out. If they decide to go, they mince around on the cold, wet deck, and sometimes slip right back inside. Sometimes the chance to adventure isn't worth it.
It's winter, and I'm writing about the desert in springtime.
These things happen sometimes.