The sounds were all muffled by an abundant snowfall in the night. When I looked out the windows, it seemed to be about 8" deep, and still snowing.
This did not bother Mishka the cat at all; she meowed for breakfast, kept me company for a while at my desk, snuggled between a file cabinet and a radiator, finally settled in Zalman's recliner chair.
The snow absorbs sound, so snowy days are unusually quiet here, unless snowplows come along.
Everything is white and subdued.
The obvious response is to make a cauldron of soup. I gathered the fresh mushrooms, added the dry porcini, and made a half-gallon of mushroom soup.
In the end, I braved the snow and went to a choral concert. A wonderful local musician has put on post-election concerts for years. They are masterpieces of community-building, of inspiration, of responses to reality, of determination and hope. It was worth slogging through the weather to attend this year's remarkable event. It was a gift of the reawakening of possibilities in the face of a bizarre and unprecedentedly dangerous current reality.
I came safely home around 9p.m. to see our neighbor from two doors down clearing the sidewalk in front of our house with his snow-blower, accompanied by Romney, the dog who first introduced us.