The sun flirted with orange clouds on the last morning of the year before fat raindrops fell from a darkening sky. Scattered circles on the pond became a dense pattern as the rain danced in a frenzy on the surface of the water. The thirsty ground tipped back its head and drank down the liquid in large gulps. Birds fled for their roost trees and squirrels dove into their dens. Then, almost as quickly as the rain had started, it was over, the sun reappeared, and a Spring Peeper sang from the pond. By late morning, it felt like spring. Chipmunks, hunkered down in their dens until recently, were running full tilt across the lawn to the rock pile that supports our birdbath, where they have a stash of acorns.
Don and I spent the afternoon in our annual tasks of grinding venison for burger, and smoking summer sausage. We finished up Saturday, and it feels good to have a store of meat prepared and laid up in the freezer. In the late afternoon, after working inside most of the day, we stepped outside into a cold blast that went right to the bones. We took a walk anyway, and when we got home, we were glad we did.
This morning was quiet, and every leaf glittered with frost. Before church, Don built a fire in the wood furnace, bringing a welcome warmth to the house. Chipmunks, tucked back in their warm dens, are dreaming of springtime, and so am I.
