Things ain’t all bad. It’s easy to forget we are lucky. Busier than a one-armed-paper-hanger-with-a-seven-year-itch. That’s what my Dad used to say.
Going to one job than another without properly sewing up the previous job. That’s how it feels. That’s when we forget things. Getting older doesn’t help.
The birds have been singing like they are getting serious. Moving among the trees, putting branches between them and the sky. Plenty of cold weather coming. It’s only mid Feb after all.
The northern lights came out last night. Green and red shooting straight up in the east. The big and little dipper, along with Polaris seemed unfazed.
The snow crunches when walked on. The long legged dog breaks through. The small hounds run on top. A herd, about eight, Whitetail Deer, rustled, and run. Hooves scarring the frozen earth with fresh tracks. The dogs, perk, but stay close. Thank Christ! I’m too old to chase after them.