Winter is kind of like Donald Trump. She wasn’t scheduled to take over the White House until today, but she’s been waiting around the entrance, push-push, real bossy, demanding to be let in for about a week now. Jack Frost snuck around and let her in the back door last Friday.
Today it’s almost warm outside. No ice on the rain bucket. No frost on the grass. The sky is clear, but the air doesn’t bite my nose this morning. It’s almost impossible to guess what Winter is going to do, she’s very impetuous. Impulsive. Rash. Hasty. Reckless, heedless, careless, foolhardy, bullheaded, headstrong and imprudent. She’s all that stuff and more.
She’s laid waste to my yard, burnt the tops off my blue sage flowers, chased Hummer off somewhere. But she also brings in sort of a calm, a forced work stoppage, a chance to sit in front of the fire and think about the year ahead.