Hemingway you said
Read a little Hemingway
Listen to some old Buddy Rich records
Perhaps a bite to eat, smorgasbord or the like
All of this sat by the log fire
With flames away up the chimney
Outside the snow falls
The pathways from the woods are iced over
Those once lively animals have settled
Into burrows and nests, there is no wind
The tufts of grass are all but hidden
By the settled flakes of joyous alimentation