Peevish Pen

Ruminations on reading, writing, rural living, retirement, aging—and sometimes cats. And maybe a border collie.

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Location: Rural Virginia, United States

I'm a retired teacher turned writer. Ferradiddledumday (my Appalachian version of the Rumpelstiltskin story) and Stuck (my middle grade paranormal novel) are available from Cedar Creek Publishing.

Saturday, February 11, 2012

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  . . .


. . . especially when a snack was involved.


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.


Melody didn't take long to approach the first bale.


Soon, she headed to another.


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.


For a while the snow, which lasted only ten minutes or so, blew horizontally. Then it was gone. But the low clouds in a mean sky stuck around for a while.


The wind blew hard. Really hard. I'm pretty sure it complained, too.

~

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