Low Clouds, Mean Skies
Emily Dickinson could have been describing today:
The Sky is low—the Clouds are mean,
A travelling flake of snow
Across a barn or through a rut
Debates if it will go—
A Narrow Wind complains all Day
How some one treated him;
Nature, like Us, is sometimes caught
Without her Diadem.
The clouds were indeed low today. Last night's forecast had called for a chance of snow, but none fell here. Whether the snowflake debated or not, I don't know. I do know that a cold misty rain was falling last evening when I fed the critters.
This morning, with a mild wind blowing, Melody preferred to stay under shelter . . .
Because the forecast called for high winds this afternoon, we tried to get the outside work done before they came. The main outside chore was moving some bales into the pasture for Melody. We figured giving her more snacks to choose from would give her something to do—and keep her from pushing the fence. Under low clouds, my husband hauled some bales to the pasture.
About the time we finished in the pasture, the wind started blowing in earnest—not narrow, but wide and fierce. It howled around the house and rattled the windows. Just before noon, travelling flakes of snow came our way.