Our little cabin awakens with the shifting and whining of the old dog. A fire needs to be started in the woodstove, this morning he stirs the coals and sparks it while I burrow deeper under the covers. Eventually I climb down the ladder and greet the ruby sunrise kissed hills. The generator is started to give our cold batteries a nice charge, after weeks of reasonable temperatures it has cruelly dropped to -20 during the night. There is hot tea to drink and some toast warmed in the broiler (the toaster was given away with all our other electricity hogging implements), a slow morning to listen the redpolls gorging at the feeder; the pop of the woodstove and find my way to some words.