January 3.I awake to find it still snowing. Over two fluffy feet perched on the railing obscures half the window.
Where are the cows who strayed in last night to lick the salt on my car? They are gone this morning, their tracks now faint. Did the farmer find them?
The forecast says the snow will continue all day, perhaps to record levels. We'll stay in 'til it ends, with seed for the birds and a pot of bean soup.
Zphx, 1/3/2010
Where are the cows who strayed in last night to lick the salt on my car? They are gone this morning, their tracks now faint. Did the farmer find them?
The forecast says the snow will continue all day, perhaps to record levels. We'll stay in 'til it ends, with seed for the birds and a pot of bean soup.
Zphx, 1/3/2010
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, January 3
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau
"A book, each page written in its own season,
out-of-doors, in its own locality."
~edited, assembled and rewritten by zphx © 2009-2023
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