Peevish Pen

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

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Location: Rural Virginia, United States

I'm an elderly retired teacher who writes. Among my books are Ferradiddledumday (Appalachian version of the Rumpelstiltskin story), Stuck (middle grade paranormal novel), Patches on the Same Quilt (novel set in Franklin County, VA), Them That Go (an Appalachian novel), Miracle of the Concrete Jesus & Other Stories, and several Kindle ebooks.

Monday, March 26, 2012

Morning After

After the storm, that is. This morning was a bright day with much in bloom. The rains of Saturday and Sunday had washed everything clean and sparkling. Flowers bloom all over the place. Here's how my lawn looked this morning:

The oaks are leafing out as the redbud's blooms fade. Beside the gazebo, tulips bloom.

The forsythia beside the gazebo is losing its bloom and gaining green leaves.

Beside the patio, azaleas are blooming.

Butterflies dart from bloom to bloom. The one below samples a luminaria blossom.

Chloe the kitty waits for a butterfly to appear.

Dandelions, like golden coins flung by the hand of God, dot the lawn.

And not a cloud is in the sky.

This afternoon, we went down to Polecat Creek Farm to trim some trees and see how the fields fared after the heavy rains. Coming home, we encountered a narrow fellow in the road:

The snake wasn't moving. I got out of the truck to see if he was dead. He didn't look squashed. In fact, his lumpy look made me think he'd just had some little critters for lunch.

I checked him from the other direction. He didn't move. That tire track made me wonder if he'd been run over. I kicked his tail with my toe. He moved pretty quickly then.

In fact, he coiled into striking mode. And he noticed me.

I retreated back to the truck while he completed the coiling process.

He struck at the truck's  tire and dared us to come out. My husband leaned out the window and took the picture below.

I probably won't kick any more snakes. No sense taking a risk . . . . 


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