FROST AND CHEER

This was one of those frost-on-your-pumpkin sort of mornings—although the only pumpkin hereabouts is a huge discard considerably larger than a basketball, someone apparently threw into the river a week after Halloween. 


The poor jettisoned pumpkin made it as far as the riffle in front of the cottage, where it then got stuck in the shallows between the stones—doomed to mutely await the breakdown of the flesh that eventually comes to us all…or alternately, being set free by a providential rise in the water level, thus enabled to continue on its downstream adventure.

But while pumpkins may be in short supply, brown fallen leaves, and a few green ones such as those on violets, are not. I liked the way the the frost added a delicate filagreed border around many leaf edges, dusted others like sprinkled sugar, and made the ribs on the big sycamore leaves stand out like crystalized bone. 

Somewhere in the dark tangle of cedars along the fence, a Carolina wren sang ebulliently. Chickadees, titmice, and nuthatches were busy working the feeders. The dapper chickadees seemed especially energized by the brisk-but-sunny morning. 


Of course, a bit of sunshine and a handy supply of sunflower seeds to pilfer are all any chickadee ever needs to be sent into spasms of noisy delight. I expect there's a lesson in there for all of us with our long lists of conditions that must be met before we deign to greet a new morning with even half so much honest cheer.

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