There is something soothing about the emptiness of a snowy winter night. It is lack of sound, lack of color, lack of light.
It is bare bones with nothing attached.
Every once in awhile it is good to simply be. There are no rows to hoe, no grass to cut, no apples to pick, no clothes to hang up or take down.
It is easier to think that all the work is done when it is covered up with a clean white sheet and not staring you in the face.
It will rouse again, all too soon, but for now it sleeps, dark and deep.