This crunchy, crusty snow is like walking on pizzelles.
Along the path, squirrels make a dent in nature’s icebox. Here and there you see spots of clawed-out grass, where nuts have been burrowed and retrieved. A little warm-up in the temperature works for me.
Mike is in the bucket truck at the park pulling off the seasonal lights, big clusters of little lamps. Keith, with a bright lime hood, stands in the crotch of the tree, perfectly at home, working the middle. Brenda with her powder blue hood, supervises from the ground up.
A Fighter ticket stub from 12/27/10 lies upside down on the parking space strip by my driver’s side door. When I first struck out, I found a cardboard label for a child’s snow sliding vehicle. It’s snowy, it’s slippery.
No herons. I drive to the library. A mallard drake slumps dead and frozen on the Spring Ridge Corporate Center pond, where the surface has become a solid. I’m not sure how it got there. There is also a decoy duck caught in the ice. When I drove by the other day both were there in the morning and I was hoping the real bird wasn’t dead. It is.