Friday, November 30, 2018

Goodbye, November

Last night and today the air's been filled with a fine mist or fog. It's not heavy or thick, just enough to make it look as though everything is under very thin gauze. Perhaps that's what let the three does feel safe enough to visit the pumpkin pile under the pear tree. Even if our photography skills were much better than they are, the lighting was tough. Little light and even less contrast prevailed.

two of three does feeding at the pumpkin pile
two of three does feeding at the pumpkin pile
Photo by J. Harrington

They were beautiful to watch. Their dark dun coats, shrouded by mist, made us wonder if they were real or ghost deer. Other than an occasional glimpse as one or more crossed a nearby road recently, these are the first deer we've seen in weeks. Turkeys have equally been very scarce, no doubt due to the disruptions associated with the recent firearms seasons and continued, at a lesser level, by blackpowder  and bow hunters. We did see one flock of a dozen or so, strung out single file across a field five miles or so South of the house. The single file arrangement, in a head to tail fashion rather than side by side, looked pretty silly. Maybe, again this year, we'll be visited by a Christmas flock of turkeys.

one year a flock of turkeys visited at Christmas time
one year a flock of turkeys visited at Christmas time
Photo by J. Harrington

Marshes, lakes and rivers are all frozen but not likely safe to travel on. The Better Half pointed out some large flocks of geese way up in the air earlier this week. We suspect there may be open water one Forest Lake or, maybe the geese were circling before heading South for the Winter. It's about that time. Tomorrow we begin December. Sunday is the beginning of Hanukkah. We've managed to get ourselves well into the holiday season without even having to try. Starting tomorrow, we'll have to wait a whole year before we can agin enjoy a

November Night


Adelaide Crapsey18781915


Listen. . .
With faint dry sound, 
Like steps of passing ghosts, 
The leaves, frost-crisp’d, break from the trees 
And fall.


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