Ramble with Storm: Pipe down, lone goose & yellow light

SHARE Ramble with Storm: Pipe down, lone goose & yellow light

Mulling things on my morning ramble

with Storm, the family’s mixed Lab.

It looked like a small band of snow was coming in on radar, so I tried to time it to get outside later with the meathead to catch some snow flakes.

But radar in winter is notoriously inaccurate. Maybe I should rephrase that. It is notorious in winter for showing snow when clouds are dropping precipitation that is not reaching the ground.

Actually, it was another spectacular fall morning: cool in the upper 20, light cloud cover and light winds.

A lone Canada goose sailed in low and landed on the north old clay pit as the meathead and I rounded the far edge of the extended ramble. Now a lone goose is an oddity. So I looked all over, but couldn’t find another one.

Meanwhile, it was honking all the while.

When I reached the bridge over the neckdown between the two old clay pits, I saw 19 geese swim around the west side of the island on the south pit, another 13 go around the east side and seven swim under the bridge and to the north pit.

The ones going under the bridge made the lone goose pipe down.

I love the phrase “pipe down.”

Apparently, I nailed the phrase properly using it in an on-water setting.

According to urbandictionary.com, here is the origin of `pipe down:’

Originally a naval expression. It means stop talking and be quiet. The Pipe Down was the last signal from the Bosun’s pipe each day which meant lights out and silence.

Again, very little by way of wildlife.

But on the old rail bed turned into a trail above the town pond, the dawn filtered in very yellow.

I looked at the sky and it was a red-ball dawn with the light cloud cover, so I wondered why yellow light, then figured out the yellow light came from the last of the dying leaves of honeysuckle, which were quite yellow.

Ah-ha, another mystery solved.

Tomorrow morning, I expect to see the first skim ice on the town pond. We shall see.

A blue jay squawked in our neighbor’s elm, brightening the morning in a perverse way, as the meathead and I neared our porch.

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