On the shortest days of the year, the sun rises far enough south that it shines directly in through one room, through another room, and out to the bottom of the stairs.

If I see me projected on the wall, I narcissistically like to take my picture.

Thus I was struck yesterday morning as I walked around from window to window opening curtains with the stick I fashioned a few years ago from a walking stick I'd previously cut for myself in the woods. Its forked top was, in its earlier incarnation, the bottom, the bident end, which dug into the ground. Now it grabs the high curtains easily and I can open or close them without stretching.

Yes, narcissistic, but I prefer the suggestion of Pluto at the bottom of the stairs.