We ratcheted all our clocks back one notch, so it's temporarily light again in the morning, but our big axle is not quite true and we'll be back in the dark again soon.
There's thin snow on the grass. The lumpy grass. The groundskeeper has expanded his antimole system, a circle of plastic pop bottles sliced open on the sides and upended on sticks in the ground. The bottles are supposed to spin on their sticks and send mole-frightening vibrations through the ground. That, at least, appears to be his theory. But my invisible friend still works at night despite the cold; one of the molehills is snowless, dark and fresh between two frosty bottles.