|The view upstream this morning|
I am not a weather oracle. Let's make that perfectly clear at the outset. I possess no precognitive powers, and do not own a crystal ball nor a set of goose bones. The only tea leaves I read are those in the bottom of my cup which informs me when it's time for a refill.
|Snow on riverside deck rail…under two inches.|
However, yesterday's extended hoopla of adrenalized predictions by the professional pundits—"major winter storm," "significant accumulation," blah, blah, blah—just didn't square with what my gut instincts about the coming situation kept indicating. Admittedly, sometimes my "gut instincts" turn out to be the result of that chili dog I had for breakfast. Therefore, while I wouldn't have bet my best fly rod against the paid professionals, given the opportunity I might have gone a cup of coffee and a large wedge of homemade apple pie at my favorite country café…which, since I'd be having my own pie slice and cuppa, would ameliorate any sting of losing.
I did voice my doubts in yesterday's semi-ranting post: "I wouldn't be surprised if the end result turned out to be a couple of inches of wet snow…" is the exact quote—and as it turned out, a smack-on precursive call, prophesy, forecast, or prognostication. Pick your noun. I'll settle for guess. The forewarned snow arrived about 8:30 p.m. and fizzled before midnight. Total accumulation as revealed by morning's cloudy light: something under two inches. Wet and sticky, already melting.
The riverbank augur got it right! Hummm-m-m? Now that I think about it, I believe such a dazzling feat deserves more than mere self-awarded accolades…I'm pretty sure—no, make that absolutely convinced!—that the fair and just reward for such a display of evisionary accuracy is that aforementioned large wedge of homemade apple pie and cup of coffe at my favorite country café.
Please excuse me while I go collect.
|Miss Cardinal thinks I deserve pie, too. I never disobey redbirds.|