It’s along about this time that winter’s intrigue, that is,
beautiful snow, delightful crystals of ice, frosty windows, and flocked trees,
begins to wear on the psyche, and thoughts of spring are more likely to be at
the frontal lobe. Yes, it’s that time of year when the weatherman on the TV
turns into an ogre discussing the next series of low pressure systems, when you
just put on the second set of windshield wipers frustrates to the point of
cursing (oh, my), and you are so tired of lugging in logs for the fireplace,
that you bellow to the sky
Will It Ever End?
It’s been about nine weeks since the winter solstice, and
that means we’re about five weeks, maybe four and a half if we pretend some,
before the vernal equinox and blessed spring. Here at the old J Bar P, the mud
is deep, but despite the temps below the freezing mark, grass is giving it a
go. The chickens like the extra amount of light and are giving more eggs (we
don’t artificially light their cottages). So, it might be time to just remember
how nice it was when Winter was a positive word and influence on our lives.
Over the river and
through the wood,
To grandfather's house
we go;
The horse knows the
way
To carry the sleigh,
Through the white and
drifted snow.
Now, that didn’t hurt at all, did it. So, put another log on
the fire, break out those worn out winter boots, and remember how much fun it
was during those first few storms of the season, when the Austrian Pine stood
tall and proud, draped in a foot of snow and icicles hung from the eves. We’ve
been thinking bad thoughts about winter for a couple of weeks now. How about a
frivolous thought about the season?
When all aloud the
wind doth blow,
And coughing drowns
the parson's saw,
And birds sit brooding
in the snow,
And Marian's nose
looks red and raw,
When roasted crabs
hiss in the bowl.
Because of a wonderful winter’s load of snow in the high
country of the west, there will be weeks of skiing left, we’ll have water for
our crops, soon we’ll have the fly rod in hand knowing those pesky trout are
firm and fat in their cold water dens, and seed catalogs will fill mail drops
by the ton.
Yes, Virginia, it’s still winter, but too, as was once said,
this too shall pass.
Until next time, read good books and stay regular
Johnny Gunn
Member, Western Fictioneers
Member,
International Thriller Writers
Will you join me on facebook from time to time?
Or Tweet with me, darlin’?
