She pulls on a once black winter parka awash with salt stains from too many Midwestern winters, and then walks out the door into another sub-zero day.
The familiar squeaky crunch of white Sorrel boots pounding the dense snowpack provides a perfect serenade as she slowly marches down her long driveway towards the rusty mailbox.
This Minnesota native soon discovers that the three pairs of woolen socks inside don’t prevent the dampness or provide much warmth anymore.
Storm after storm have worn them all weary, as is she.
After successfully navigating one final ice patch, she fumbles with her mittens and the Thinsulate gloves underneath to pull out her large snow encrusted heat and electric bills from inside the frozen box, and also one small brightly colored postcard from Florida.
As the old woman turns to walk back up to her home, a wicked wind grabs her pretty postcard and sends it flying to the south.
With a fist in the air she screams, “And I live here, why?”
Muttering to herself, she then softly answers, “I guess it’s because I never left.”
And with that she smiles, and then laughs while catching a wet snowflake on her tongue.
I know that it’s fall.
It’s there on the wall.
And still I’ve heard much talk of snow.
I’ll look for my cap.
Though I’d prefer a long nap.
Old man winter has plenty of gall!
While hiking up a steep hill near me yesterday, I was thinking what a long winter it’s been.
But then aren’t they all?
The hill’s a popular one for sledding and has been a busy place this past week after a couple of back to back snow storms.
But Saturday it was empty except for me, the sun, and the trees swaying in the breeze.
It seemed most of the neighborhood children had set aside their sleds, and were busy dusting off their bicycles.
Others were already riding them through the growing puddles in the streets below.
As I stood and faced the sun shining down on the hill, I smelled the musty earth melting below my boots.
And I soon felt March’s blush of warmth on my winter weary face once again.
I even heard a flock of song birds sing a promise of spring as they flew overhead.
Sure, there’s another big snow storm coming here tomorrow, but I know spring is on the way.
How do I know?
Because yesterday I know I saw the light.
Tinkerbell was sent to the bench this afternoon for a two minute time out.
She was caught playing ruff while participating in some chihuahua games with chi brother Rex in the snow filled backyard.
My girl moved to the snow belt just last year from sunny California and still has much to learn about snow forts and snowballs.
When her time out was up, I gave Tink a treat and told her she was the sweetest little snow angel.
I think I caught her smiling.
But I know it was the rawhide.
Winter’s white is quite the fright as we look out the door.
I’ve had had the flu. That made us blue.
I just can’t take much more!
Snow and ice aren’t very nice,
once thoughts have moved to spring.
Still sleeping in can be a win,
such warmth those blankets bring.
Winter wears her charms.
At two below, with fresh snow.
Warms cold hearts and souls.
My terrier Tucker never lets me leave his sight, unless he’s crated.
He senses my moods. He feels every ache. And he shares any pain.
My senior boy truly looks out for me.
And today he was extra busy.
I have the flu (in spite of the flu shot), and have been home recovering.
Tucker was so happy to have me around today, but looked very concerned when I attempted to go out and shovel the 12 inches of heavy new snow in the driveway.
He once again stole my warmest old muffler in an effort to prevent me from going outside.
But being stubborn I, of course, went out anyway.
Luckily, I didn’t last long.
Tucker had started barking at me outside the window and wouldn’t quit until I did.
Some days that dog sure is a whole lot smarter than me.
Actually maybe most days.
Take those bright flowers.
Even if they last an hour.
Tonic for your soul.
Winter has its charms.
Still wicked winds will disarm.
This day take it slow.