Snowy days and first pages

These poor sheep remind me that somewhere there's always someone worse off than me!
The snow goes on - another four
inches in the early hours, which makes our decision not to drive a hundred miles to a friend's party a sensible one.
I really have no excuse not to write during these snowy days, but I find I'm nervous about re-doing the first page of the current wip. Originally I began with a conversation. Some of the crit group thought there was too much info in it and suggested I began with a quieter sequence which introduced my protagonist. I liked both beginnings, but could see that one was too busy, and the other too quiet. Now I think that if I could somehow merge them both, I'd be on to a winner.
But can I do it? Successfully, that is.
Thank the lord for computers. I can play with the words to my heart's content, and still revert to the the originals if I so choose. Imagine doing this in the days of handwritten or typewritten versions. Shudders run down my spine at the thought. Worse still, imagine doing it with a quill pen and home made ink.

Smoke and sheep

Our moorland roads are pretty, but there are hazards.
Definitely not the place to drive in ice or snow. Even in mid-summer and autumn there are heather fires and sheep on the road. There were several plumes of smoke on the hillsides when we drove this way a week or two back, and driving through the down drift we got a lovely whiff of heather smoke.

Made me think of garden bonfires we had as a child. Now of course we live in smokeless zones. We've definitely lost something in our modern life with central heating and plain walls instead of open hearths. I still remember crouching by the fire, cheeks glowing in the heat, with a piece of bread on a toasting fork. "Is it done yet? Is it done yet? Ahhhh! it's burnt!" Nothing happened and then in a second, the toast went from white to black! a great learning experience about the way fire burned and might burn you should you be stupid enough to play with matches and fireworks.

I admire Sheep. They manage to thrive in the most inhospitable places, through howling winters, snowstorms,and rain sodden summers, all without out help or shelter; but they have no road sense. People say they come down to the road to lick the salt off, but whatever it is, it makes your heart lurch to come around a corner and find them in your way.

They don't always move aside

for cars, either. They have a particularly disdainful way of looking right through you, as if you're in their world and don't belong. Which I suppose is right. If you're a sheep.

I suppose tomorrow night I'll go into grumpy mode and snarl when the trick or treaters come knocking at the door. It is one American custom I really have no time for, and wish it had stayed in the states. Ask the kids standing at your door what it's all about, and they can't tell you. Whatever the rational behind may be, it is still across the pond.