Spring’s brief turn upon the winter stage has ended as she exits stage right. The Carolina blue skies have turned a leaden grey, looking like the pewter plate handed down from Grandma. The sun lurks above translucent clouds, giving faint warmth to the waning day. Max, the ancient greybeard dog, mutters about the pain in his knees and pleads with his eyes to sleep inside tonight; his bed in the kitchen is ready. Another flight of geese reconnoiters the pond, flies off, but returns to spend the night. The pond ducks greet them as welcome guests. The chickens have gladly returned to the coop, foregoing the perches to nestle down into the straw. A fire in the living room and dinner awaits the return of the sweetest and best wife ever given to a man by a gracious creator. All is well.
Posted on: Tue, 30 Dec 2014 22:43:31 +0000
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