Meyer Lemon Pound Cake

Winter, in classic curmudgeonly style, felt we were becoming too comfortable, too...almost-warm for its liking. After about two weeks of normal weather, the mercury is falling. Again.

When temperatures plummet into the single digits (and below!), I reignite a kinship with "The Lady of Shalott." She's been a kindred spirit since I first read Tennyson's poem at the ripe old age of 12. As the deceivingly-sunny raw afternoon trudges into another icy night, I feel semi ethereal. I have no desire to do anything whatsoever. Time drips by, freezes in mid-air, and five hours have suddenly passed while my head was buried in a book. The rest of the world might as well be light years away - it's just me, and the cold, and this capricious dance with the hours. To be perfectly honest, a good part of me relishes the gelid solitude (as long as I know it's not going to last too, too long).
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