I've worked from home three days in the last week, nursing my ankle by avoiding the treacherous hill climb. It's been nice working from home. I've burned through a ton of work that requires more quiet concentration than the office can provide, and the extra 90 minutes of sleep has been divine.
Even better, though, is the rare chance to enjoy my house in the sunshine. After such a dreary winter (fourth cloudiest on record, with only 31% of the possible sunshine), it's been cheering - and revealing - to sit in the house without needing to turn lights on. My home office is particularly sunny, especially with the sun reflecting off the fresh snow. And it's fun watching Collette migrate from sun spot to sun spot - top of the stairs in the morning, office floor mid-day and then the office chair in the afternoon.
On the flip side, the sunlight revealed gobs of ceiling cobwebs and the extent of the dusty neglect plaguing my bookcases.
Perhaps that's what Emily Dickinson meant when she said the slant of light on winter afternoons "oppresses, like the weight/Of cathedral tunes." Maybe she was a lazy housekeeper, too. As a spinster (did she own her home?), did she stay on top of her dusting?
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