The gray day turned misty, misty turned rainy. I walked home from the rain station, sodden, listening to the steady rain on my umbrella, carrying a baguette, four tomatoes and a new tea bowl. I turned on the heaters downstairs, changed into dry clothes, selected some wine, spread the last of the pesto on the baguette, and waited for Chris to get home. After dinner we curled up on the couch to study. And the rain turned to snow, leaving black slashes in the street where our feet touched the ground, and when we returned from our walk by the river, our footprints were nearly invisible, just two dotted gray lines side by side.