Winter’s last gasp?

This morning the Better Half and I headed for the feed and grain store to get more bird food (50 lb. bag of coarse sun flower chips) and then to visit the Daughter Person, Son-In-Law, and Granddaughter. On our travels we saw a bald eagle; some early arrival swans on the snow and ice-covered pools at Carlos Avery Wildlife management Area; a whitetail deer along a country road; and a handful of individual squirrels dashing across the road at various locations. Today’s warming temperatures and blue skies have lots of critters out and about.

bald eagle, bare branches

Photo by J. Harrington

At the feed and grain store lots of customers were buying bags of grit, sand and snow melt. Every rural driveway we passed, and many township roads we traveled, are ice covered. If we get the amount of snow forecast for next week, we’re in for a big, very slippery, mess. Would that there was somewhere we could move that doesn’t have February but does have four seasons. Winter in our North Country is one month too long, too cold, too snowy, or too monotonous for lots of us.

The good news is that this is the last week of meteorological winter and the beginning of the last month of astronomical winter. So, from a meteorological perspective, this next week is winter’s last shot at us. Future snow storms in March, April or May will be spring storms and should melt soon after falling. I just wish Santa had delivered the flame thrower I asked for last Christmas. Is there such a thing as an anti-zamboni?

Winter: My Secret

By Christina Rossetti

I tell my secret? No indeed, not I;

Perhaps some day, who knows?

But not today; it froze, and blows and snows,

And you’re too curious: fie!

You want to hear it? well:

Only, my secret’s mine, and I won’t tell.

Or, after all, perhaps there’s none:

Suppose there is no secret after all,

But only just my fun.

Today’s a nipping day, a biting day;

In which one wants a shawl,

A veil, a cloak, and other wraps:

I cannot ope to everyone who taps,

And let the draughts come whistling thro’ my hall;

Come bounding and surrounding me,

Come buffeting, astounding me,

Nipping and clipping thro’ my wraps and all.

I wear my mask for warmth: who ever shows

His nose to Russian snows

To be pecked at by every wind that blows?

You would not peck? I thank you for good will,

Believe, but leave the truth untested still.

Spring’s an expansive time: yet I don’t trust

March with its peck of dust,

Nor April with its rainbow-crowned brief showers,

Nor even May, whose flowers

One frost may wither thro’ the sunless hours.

Perhaps some languid summer day,

When drowsy birds sing less and less,

And golden fruit is ripening to excess,

If there’s not too much sun nor too much cloud,

And the warm wind is neither still nor loud,

Perhaps my secret I may say,

Or you may guess.

********************************************
Thanks for visiting. Come again when you can.
Please be kind to each other while you can.