It was quiet on the third floor. And a little chilly. The hall thermometer dipped below 55, which signaled that I could turn the heat on guilt-free. Under 60 is really the rule, but I try to push it if I can. One quick slide of a switch spit a mouthful of blue flames into the fireplace as I swallowed some more tea. Just me and the Rizzo cat and Claude Debussy, sitting by the fire and watching the snow fall on a Friday afternoon. We don’t really get much snow in Philly, and it usually disappears in a day or two. So when I watch it fall, I don’t worry about tracking salty mudpuddles through the house later or skating down icy sidewalks instead of running for the trolley in the morning. When I watch it fall, I just sit quietly and watch…each moment, every thought falling away on a snowflake.