Winter is sliding in, I can hear it in the way the garage door squeals against it's track. The washer and dryer fight like brother and sister, my front door asks: "Whoooo are you?" The ceiling fan hums, whirrs and tinks a sconce. Turning the heat up, the motor shudders to a start; ducts bwong in approval. Still, there's one room that hoards the blankets and re- fuses to warm up. I make my way towards the bathroom as the floor groans adoringly, and the plumbing sings its' vibrato welcome as the tub fills slowly. I sink in and listen to the house pulling the siding tight.