Christmas Eve

Christmas Eve and nothing is stirring. Brent and Boo are off to Winthrop for a tree and last minute shopping. The dogs are pooped and finally crashed on different sides of the cabin. The electrically-heated concrete floors are malfunctioning and my feet haven't been so warm since summer. Meanwhile the snowpack on the roof is slowly curving under, preparing to slide. Aren't those icicles wicked looking?