Morning arrived with a striped sky—bright bands of gold and pink, salmon and mauve that lent a festive start to the new day. I welcomed the cheery beginning, seeing as how the thermometer was, at the time, registering a measly 4˚F. The coldest temperature so far this year.
Burrr! No…make that double-burrrrr!
Though it has now climbed to a balmy 11˚F, there's still not much chance of the ice under the snow softening anytime soon. Which means I'll have to keep slipping, sliding, plodding, crunching—and about every third step, breaking through the thick crust. All of which makes walking around both insecure and tiring.
In order to keep my butt from making frequent and painful impacts with the iron-hard, ice-topped earth, I've taken to employing an old sucker spear—with a trio of sharp tines, like Neptune's trident—as a makeshift walking stick. This dandy tool has proven especially useful when negotiating the small-but-steep hill up to the mailbox. And should sasquatch be lurking amid the cedars and honeysuckle, I'll simply brandish my fearsome weapon in his direction and try to not scream like a girl.