So much snow

The little farmhouse is buried deep .

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

My gardens are dormant; asleep beneath a thick carpet of white wet snow.

The Home Place Fairy Folk are burrowed  cozy and warm in their chambers, snug along the root-line of a great oak tree, far below where the frost fingers glow.

They play music on pan pipes, harps, flutes and marimbas, they sort seeds and dance the slow waltz of fairies in winter, contently waiting the return to their gardens come spring.