Yesterday afternoon, Clif and I went to Augusta to do some errands. After that we had planned to go to a panel about truth and poetry at The Terry Plunkett Poetry Festival at the University of Maine in Augusta. We knew that snow—yes, snow—was in the forecast, but we thought it would come later in the evening.
Turns out, we were wrong. The day started out nice enough, but by the time we left home to do errands, the sky was overcast. When we came out of the grocery store, it was spitting snow, as we say in Maine.
“What do you think?” I asked Clif.
He shrugged, and we both squinted at the spitting snow.
“We probably should go home,” I suggested.
“Good idea,” he said quickly.
So home we went, a little reluctantly. We are both—ahem—at the age where we have a hard time driving not only at night but also in bad weather, especially snow. In addition, we were worried about slippery roads.
As dusk came, we were very happy we had made the decision to go home. Here is what it looked like outside our front door.
And here is our old trusty friend, Green Shovel. Clif had brought Green Shovel down cellar, and we had thought that would be that until next winter. Silly us!
A little while later, we heard the roar of the snowplow and saw the flash of its yellow light flicker through the closed shades in our living room.
In fact, neither Clif nor I are too worried about this snow. (As long as we are home, of course.) This is April, after all, and the snow will soon be gone. The only shoveling that had to be done was the front porch.
Nevertheless, I could swear the snow was laughing at us this morning. Mother Nature is quite the trickster, isn’t she?