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It's been two days since I've gone outside for anything but to get a bag of stove-pellets or make a trip to the post office. In the house, the smell of burnt indian spices from a dinner last week still permeates the air. Outside, a rectangle of white road salt remains where I parked my car after returning from a heavy weekend of snow in WV. From the porch, the snow reveals the pattern of an icy and beaten path leading to and from the garage. It reminds me of a set of marble church steps I saw in Switzerland several years ago, all worn from hundreds of years obedient routine.