Every time G hears the furnace click on, he’s right there huddling in front of the floor grate by the big table (where we eat and make) or under the bar by the grate at my feet as I work on the catalog or tap out a post. When the heat is on, we are cozy and dry. When it clicks off, every crack and crevice in this old house leaks the coldest air.
Today it’s Cold. Low twenties with wind chills in the teens and lower. Short bursts of dry snow blow down from Lake Erie. Nothing really accumulates, but yard and deck and front yard mini-boulders are dusted white. The squirrels are frantic; they’ve been so all fall. Browns and greys and blacks stuff their faces with the surplus of maple seeds (a hefty crop of them this year) I can’t seem to fully collect and/or bag with my rake and dustpan. We’ve seen up to a dozen of them at once—some just inches from each other—frantically raking at the grass and dirt with their claws. A particularly rotund brown specimen we named Fatty (I know, creative) will let you get just a foot away from him, but every time I non-threateningly lift my camera, he darts away faster than you’d imagine a rodent of his size could scurry.
We fear this portends a long, cold winter.
2 Days Later:
We’re not really afraid of a long, cold winter. Long as there’s snow.