Partridgeberry of Sleet

I am deliriously happy, and I do mean deliriously, as in disoriented with joy, but happy to be so. When I got up this morning, I could see from the hotel window that it was snowing and the traffic was roaring and moaning past on the Walter Reuther. But I was determined that everything was going to be just fine. By the time I arrived at the facility and the Sparrowhawk finished his breakfast and the staff all came around to wish him fond goodbyes (they'll see him again in a week or so anyway for a post-experimental check-up), and I packed up his leftovers from the refrigerator and his books and slippers and hauled his suitcase out to the car and came back for the rest of his things, the snow had stopped and traffic had eased up, and everything was in fact fine as we sped away toward home. As we reached the western part of the state, there was even a little bit of sunshine. Now it can snow all it wants to--we don't care, because we're not going anywhere till we get over the sheer joy of just being here. We watched the four episodes of The Good Place, saving the finale for tomorrow, and now we're enjoying silence, which is an entirely different thing when there's someone else in the room. The Sparrowhawk of course was a hero of science, and I think I was very brave, hardly moped at all and did many things while he was gone, but I would prefer not to do this again.