It starts with a dull glow in the eastern sky as bright orange fingers creep across the frozen land. There is something almost prayerful about the pre-dawn stillness as light nudges the night away. Briefly the light glows and then disappears as clouds capture the sun in their grey flannel folds.

There's no need to listen to a weather forecast today – it's going to be a snow day.

Ah, the joys of snow days! They offer a change of pace, a chance to enjoy leisure at a leisurely pace.

If Mother Nature made commercials they would read something like this: “How do you spell relief from the hectic pace of a busy world? S-N-O-W!”

I could almost see Mother Nature shaking her snowy wand as I hurried to finish the chores before dark last Monday afternoon. A single snowbird, feathers puffed against the cold, sat in the bush beside the back porch. He turned a beady eye in my direction and tucked his beak, bowing his head as if in prayer.

What might a snowbird pray for?

The answer came before I reached the barn. Fat flakes were swirling gracefully to earth as I opened the pasture gate. Before I made it back to the house the path had gone from grey to winter white.

When I opened the porch door, Mr. Snowbird shook his feathers and looked at me a second time. I couldn't swear to it, but I believe he winked.

The message from my feathered friend was clear.

Tomorrow would be a snow day! I walked in the house mentally making plans. When a snow day comes along it's important to follow the rules.

Rule number one, of course, is that normal workday routines are out – only necessities need be addressed.

An address that includes goats, however, really can't follow the “no work” rule. Putting first things first, the next morning I headed off to the barn before consulting my snow day list.

Once the chores were done I settled down by the window with a cup of tea to watch the birds and make plans for the day. Let's see – I could eat breakfast, take a walk, read a book, make hot cocoa, bake cookies, practice the piano, take a nap . . .

As I considered the possibilities my snowbird friend, or perhaps one of his cousins, landed on the feeder outside the window. With a flip of his tail and a flurry of seeds he proceeded to work his way down the feeder tray.

Looking pointedly in my direction the little grey and white bird flipped his tail again.

“You have your work, I have mine,” he seemed to say.

I got the point. “Fill bird feeders,” I mentally added to my list for the day.

But first it was time for my breakfast. Instead of the usual bag of cold cereal snatched on the way out the door, I made oatmeal – the old-fashioned, slow-cooked kind. I returned to the window and enjoyed a leisurely breakfast with and maybe for (judging by the amount of grain in my bowl) the birds.

Refreshed and refueled, I checked the next item on my list – a walk, somewhat work-related I decided. I took my camera.

Typical for a snow day, I didn't have much to show for my efforts. After a half hour of trekking through the woods the only thing I managed to work up was an appetite. Apparently all my would-be woodland subjects were also taking a snow day. Like the night before Christmas, not a creature was stirring – except for the goats.

As I trudged through the snow I consoled myself with the fact that the time was not wasted. I had worked up an appetite for another snow day tradition – cookies.

Back at the window with a plate of still-warm cookies and a cup of tea I settled down to read and watch the birds. Sophie hopped down from her bird-watching perch on the back of my chair and landed in my lap. Whiskers twitching, she expressed my sentiments exactly – as snow days go, this was a good one.

As another bird came in for a landing, Sophie began to purr.

“You're right, Sophie,” I said as I sipped my tea. “Snow days are like that flock of birds at the feeder -the important things are front and center.”

Switching her tail with contentment, Sophie settled down in my lap to enjoy the view.

A snow day, like a summer rose, is something to be savored.

Cats understand such things, but sometimes it takes a snow day to make the somewhat slower human species stop and enjoy life's roses, albeit frozen ones.

“Let the snow days come,” I told the contented cat in my lap.

Sophie looked over her shoulder and flipped her tail in agreement.

Until spring arrives, snow days and winter roses will be enough.