The dawn broke with a sky of embarrassed red. The glow over the Chicken Ranch filtered through the window and painted the white walls of the bedroom a dark pink. "Red sky in morning, sailor take warning," I thought, as I pulled on my boots and headed for the coffee pot.
It was an east wind, the wind of change, that played a quiet symphony through the cedars and pines, and ruffled the feathers of the birds gathering to eat. The birds at the feeder outside the kitchen window, seemed more excited and animated than usual. Pushing, shoving, and feeding heartily. Some birds flew off to bushes and under eaves as they finished. I watched this feeding frenzy as I prepared to leave. After topping off my travel mug with Java, I put on my oilskin duster and cowboy hat and headed out the door. The sky was a dark blue/gray in the southwest.
I had a short trip to make, so I fed the animals earlier than usual, climbed into the truck, and headed off to a small town thirty miles away. I noticed herds of cattle bunched up close together as I drove along.
On my journey I could see large numbers of deer and turkeys feeding in stubble fields. Storing up energy, no doubt, for the day ahead. Ducks and geese, by the hundreds of thousands, were flying south and east. I had witnessed a huge number flying north just a few days before. There were so many that, at first, I thought it was a sky full of smoke from a large fire. As I got closer, I could see the outstretched necks and flapping wings of feathered wonder gliding through the cloudy sky.
On one stretch of highway, the flocks of waterfowl filled the horizon from east to west as far as the eye could see, and remained that way for over five miles of my travel north. Unless you live in a flyway, and have witnessed these mass migrations, its hard to comprehend a sky that is so darkened by a floating canopy of graceful birds.
So the wind, the woodland inhabitants, livestock, birds of feather, and my aching joints all recognized the change in the air. A winter storm was coming soon. I had seen the predictions of the TV and on-line weather gurus, and knew we were slated for snow. But even without the excited banter of the weather forecasters, nature was telling anyone who would listen that wind and snow were eminent.
A few hours later, as I drove south on my way home, I ran into snow. There wasn't the usual flurries, followed by more sizable snowflakes, and then a transition to snow. I went from dry road to a wall of snow; on the road, on the ground, and near blizzard wind pushing it. It was as if drove through a curtain, and into a new world of white.
By the time I reached home, there was already three inches on the ground and 26 mile per hour winds. I put the truck in the garage and headed out for a quick check of the animals. They were all snug in their strawed down houses and pens. The pasture critters faced away from the wind, and snow accumulated on their backs.
I carried in a couple of armloads of wood and put a match to the fireplace and wood stove. We settled in for a snowy Midwest winters night, and were grateful for the warmth and comfort of our home.
But, for this night, I'm content to stifle any complaints. I peeked out the door and listened to the howl of the wind, then heard the crackle of the warm fire. I watched the cottony snow fly past the window light, and then I looked back to the spirit dance of orange and yellow flames leaping over the glowing wood.
As I sipped from my coffee cup, I thought, 'Let Ole Man Winter have his way tonight'. His days are numbered after all.
March will soon be here in weather as well as calendar. Soon it will bring with it a little brighter sun, and the first spring flowers. And the promise of a renewed landscape; a picture even brighter than flames of my cozy fire.
