Here are all the little details, taken care of - the new license, registration for the car and for the voting booth, bank account at the local credit union. Gas and electric bills paid, rent paid. Job secured. Trash taken to the curb. I'm officially a Vermont resident now. Which is pretty nice.

Still, I am adapting slowly. I ache for rain; the blue sky and bright snow do not speak "winter" to me. Even the overcast days and the cold. You can argue that there are no seasons in coastal California, and certainly there are few autumn leaves and fewer blizzards - still, the year does change. Winter is dark sky and big wind, fat raindrops and floods. By now the hills are greening, the rains slackening. In my mind I understand that snow should mean winter even more than rain, but my heart doesn't buy it. Snow means nothing to my body and its knowledge of seasons, -20º means nothing, nothing here can convince me it is winter. It feels like it's been years since I was in a thunderstorm. He tells me there will be rain aplenty in the spring; give me spring then. Snow is piled five feet high on the curb, icicles grin toothily from the roof, and all my skin yearns for a good rain. Water, water everywhere, and not a puddle to jump.