November

Finally it’s cold enough for the water to freeze in the hose.

I use the vice-grips to unscrew the hose from the water pump.  I lift the handle and wait for the water to come.

It bursts from the spigot as if there’s something holding it back.  The water looks thick and seems to move slow.   But it’s not cold enough for the water to freeze in the pump and it steadily falls into the bucket, first in a loud “plunk” then softer and softer as the bucket fills.

“It’s too warm for November” I sing when I let the dogs out,  fluff the hay in the feeders, feed the hens and muck out the barn.

Everywhere the Blue Jays are screaming their warning, the calendula blooms as if it’s still summer.

Gone are the thick gray clouds that block the sun and blue sky, gone the cold that keeps the ticks from waylaying me in the woods. The darkness still comes early, but the nights are spring warm.

I lay the hose on the grass so the ice inside it will melt in the warm bright sun.  This afternoon I’ll screw it back onto the water pump,  I have a feeling it’s going to warm up again and it’s easier than hauling a bucket of water.   I put my face to the sun and let the warmth seep in, I think of all the electricity we’re making with our solar panels, how we’re using less firewood.

But still, I wish it were cold enough for the water to freeze in the hose and stay that way until April.