This was a polite warning
Part of my reason for trying to blog, regularly, is to provide an almanach. The seasonal moments. For example, last night we had our first snowfall of the season.
Something like this has no staying power. Probably, by the end of the day, this will be the only record unless you wander deep in the woods. In the time of my ancestors, it would have mattered. Time to finish digging the potatoes, before a deep frost. Or a way to see what animals were around (now, we consider a hare to be a big deal). They would be looking for the first traces of sea ice (we don’t do that, any more). The leaves would have all fallen (now, they haven’t).
I can look at my deck, emptied in anticipation, and pat myself on the back. Clearing the eventual snow cover will be a simple, repetitive task. With a shovel. Or a broom. I don’t have one of the mechanical contraptions that has to be stored away. Which reminds me: the lawn tractor will have to come in. We have waited, too long in past and learned that it, and we, have no traction in snow. But today is nothing more than a flag. Like the warning whistle, before the end of a game. We will get int done, and then let winter do what it wants. Snow tires? Scheduled.
And my three antennas? Same thing. I will get things done before the real start of winter. Really! My moments of procrastination are simply a sign of getting older. The priorities have shifted.
