Another week ends, along with the first month of the new year.
The river, when I stepped outside a few minutes ago to toss a few scoops of cracked corn to my ground-feeding birds, was a lovely luminous green and full of slush, like a slow-moving margarita. No surprise, since the thermometer reads a measly 13˚F.
It's also sunny, and the warm-looking light coming through the tangled limbs of the big sycamore at the bottom of the driveway, belies the cold—though only temporarily. Wishful dreaming is no lasting match for bone-jarring shivers which threaten to shake an underdressed fellow's spine apart.
Myladylove, bless her trusting heart, has her hopes set on a "snow day" Monday. I'm more pessimistic and will believe anything over 5 inches when I shovel it.
I awoke yesterday feeling awful, with a very sore and swollen throat. Lots of strong lapsang tea, liberally laced with honey and lemon, homemade chicken soup for lunch, plus keeping a cozy warm fire in the woodstove, all had me feeling pretty good by evening and I'm back to what passes for normal today.
Providing my morning's under-insulated bird-feeding foray doesn't trigger a setback (yeah, I should'a known better) it's shaping up to be a dandy day by the riverbank.