The quiet of tonight lays like a warm wool blanket over the hills cradling the village.
Homes are alight.
Some of the homes use oil lamps, their shadows chasing one another across hand sawed logs, a few have their wood stoves fired up, the sweet smell of wood laying lazily among the tall, snow-covered spruce trees. Girls in long flowing dresses and winter boots walk a path through our yard to Gregg's and Teresa's house where a small birthday party is taking place. Moms in their head coverings and beautifully designed dresses gossip inside of the house in front of the patio doors. The movements of their silhouettes bring life to that old house. Carol Channing, taking advantage of no wind and falling snow, wanders over and makes for her makeshift bed in the corner of the shed.