Mulling things on my morning ramble with Storm, our family’s mixed Lab.
I thought about grabbing an arty-farty photo of the icicles hanging off the roof of the bus barn, but I didn’t want to take the time.
For the first time since Sunday, I figured that Storm and I could reach the town pond.
Notice I am calling him Storm and not meathead, at least until he proves otherwise. And he will reearn his nickname. But he has some sense. When we crossed the side rail separating the town from the wildness of the town pond, he did not pull toward the left and the extended ramble.
Something reassuring about seeing the dawn above over the south old clay pit. There is a surprising amount of slush under the heavy snow on the town pond.
No, we did not tray walking on it. I simply noticed as we circled the pits.
I had hoped to mull over two guys I truly enjoyed getting into the Hall of Fame, but it was more a morning to savor coming back to routine. Another morning will be for mulling Frank Thomas and Greg Maddux.
The trail, formerly a side rail, above the south end of the south pit was packed with rabbit tracks.
Three doves–one might have been a Eurasian collared-dove, but I could not tell for sure–fluttered around the wires by the grain elevator on the edge of town. That was the first sign of wildlife this morning.
Then a flock of 20 rock doves (barn pigeons) wheeled above the edge of town. The last time I counted them, I only counted 15. Either I am not as good at counting birds as I think I am or they added a couple.
Three more doves, all mourning doves, fluttered around the wires by the house with the feeders across from the bus barn.
But I have a reminder of the storm that was: My snow shovel, which busted in shoveling drifts Sunday, is still stuck in two pieces in the snow pile by the drive.
I thought it made a nice still life this morning.
Winter normal, such as it is this year, settles in.
