Coming closer shabbat, to an East Coast friend's visit, to Purim, to officially Spring.
The Great Blizzard that was predicted turned out to be merely a normal snowstorm in Boulder.
(I remember the real blizzard some years ago, when friends had landed for a day travelling between coasts---and stayed for almost a week, since the aiport had closed.  We had a ball.)
This one was disappointing, as far as storms go:  nothing dramatic, after cancelling all sorts of things.  Too bad.
Tomorrow, the little that is left will melt completely.
This was the weather's trick on us in anticipation of Purim.

I went tonight to attend one of a series of talks that Zalman gave some years ago on Davvenen--- before the Flood, going by the chair he was sitting in.  I realized later, as I reviewed it in my mind, that he was speaking mostly of private prayer.  
I don't have trouble with that; though I often wonder whether Anyone is listening, and am not sure whether to be grateful or embarrassed if the answer is yes.
My trouble is with most of the composed prayers in the siddur---both the content and the quantity.
I know I'm not alone.

The prayers that I can do, that focus my mind and open my heart, are the smaller ones of the weekday morning, the evening, the gratitudes, the karmic-forgiveness prayer before the bedtime Sh'ma:
the ones I can do at home that focus my consciousness for a moment.  Or, if I am lucky, that spiral me down into my center.

The first thing I used to hear in the morning was the very soft voice of my beloved giving thanks for the return of consciousness.  The last thing I heard was the almost-whisper of the bedtime Sh'ma.
I will go upstairs now, and prepare my own consciousness to wander safely as I sleep.
Good night
Good shabbos
(and a purr from Mishka, napping beside the laptop)