I pulled on one of my thinner shirts and leggings this morning. Still wearing four layers of clothes only not as bulky. Yesterday promised spring with a blue sky, bright warm sun and singing birds. Jon read the weather to me before we got out of bed.
Warm, I heard temps in the upper thirties.
But when I went outside to feed the animals something(maybe it was the gray sky), made me put on my fleece-lined hat, the one that covers my ears. A stray snowflake was tossed in the wind that I hadn’t heard inside the house but felt as soon as I stepped outside.
The path to the barnyard that began to melt yesterday was hard and slippery again. The icy wind bit at my face, the only exposed part of me. And Fate did not roll around in the snow after chasing the sheep.
“I hear there’s going to be a storm,” Maria the bank teller spoke to us on the screen at the drive-through later in the morning. Once again Jon checked his weather App. No sign of a storm from the experts, but sometimes the farmers know what they don’t.
And now as I sit in my studio, in a sweater, hat, and scarf. The wind blowing through the cracks in the walls and windows, those rogue flakes of snow that followed me in the barnyard this morning have multiplied.
Sheets of white are dancing with the low hanging tree branches outside my window as I write this. I can hear the Snowplow on Route 22 creating a line of slow cars behind it. The birds are filling up on the seed in the feeder outside my studio window.
Looks like I’ll be making another trip to the hardware store for birdseed this afternoon.