Switzerland has weather sniffers. Punxsutawney has Phil. Around here, we have the Old Timer up the road who has a cat name Mr. Sh*thead and hates everyone.
The snow falls softly
Christmas magic is silent. You don’t hear it… You feel it. You know it. You believe it.
When you can’t find the light
That got you through the cloudy days
When the stars ain’t shinin’ bright
You feel like you’ve lost you’re way
When the candlelight of home
Burns so very far away
Well, you got to let your soul shine
I was never one for fashion. My wardrobe consists of “good” jeans and t-shirts and “chore” jeans and t-shirts. Now, weeks into the quarantine, my everyday fashion routine has devolved into changing from my “nighttime” pajamas to my “daytime” pajamas and vice versa.
Rule 1: Do not complain that the barn “stinks.” Poop smells. You know it… I know it… even the cows know it.
Lately, I’ve lost my shit. And it seems to be ALL over. And try as I might, I can’t get my shit together. Just when I have most of it scooped up and in a bucket and I think I’m on the verge of getting my shit together… the bucket springs a leak, and then…
Another Nor’easter rages outside my window. The winds are howling, the snow is falling and the temperature is dropping. Oh, how I’d rather be mowing hay in the summer sunshine!
The morning started out with a slight breeze. The flag at the barn danced gracefully in the wind. The hay in the field gently swayed. A few leaves tumbled from the oak trees. Even the cows were blissfully unaware of the bad weather on the horizon. Lately, our local weatherman has consistently missed the mark…
Those who don’t believe in magic will never find it
– Roald Dahl
Over the years, the old-timer-up-the-road has given me a lots of advice… albeit, mostly ridiculous advice, but advice nonetheless. “Never get involved with the mafia,” he whispered to me one day in the barn, peeking over the back of a cow. “Whaaaaat?” I replied incredulously, as my eyes rolled around a little. “Hush, girly,” was…
This is a frog… clinging to the glass of the storm door… about eight feet off the ground. Against the odds, he survived two curious Australian Shepherds, the constant opening and closing of the door and several red-tailed hawks. He hung around all day and into the night, slowly making his way up higher and…
Branches on the evergreens, are dressed in snowy white, as soft the moonlight sparkles, on this blanket of the night. Delicate, untouched and pure, is found the ground below, as gentle moonbeams glimmer, on the freshly fallen snow. -Pamela Joyce Randolph
The first winter weather of the season arrived as an ice storm today. Schools closed. Power lines came down. Roads iced over. And the old timer up the road slid his truck into a ditch. Despite the inconveniences caused by the storm, I cannot help but see the beauty of the ice.
When I first open my eyes upon the morning meadows and look out upon the beautiful world, I thank God I am alive. — Ralph Waldo Emerson