Blog: Hideaway Pond–hideawaypond.com–11/30/2022
The last day of November. Again. In exactly 5 hours and 21 minutes December arrives. The winter Solstice is a mere three weeks away. The gods of time don’t seem to care about the theft of this, their most valuable asset. The tocs tic on.
The mountains, forests and their critters don’t care either. Their insouciance toward man’s puny concerns, an inborn trait. Ruminant indifference. How do you say “Who cares?” in deer lingo?
A six point buck has been grazing in the front yard each evening. The laid on fat will be a bulwark against Jack Frost’s angry winter gales. Two does and their yearling fawns gaze curiously into our kitchen windows as they gorge on the unplanned bounty of sunflower seeds. Accidental gifts, dropped from the birdfeeders. Turkeys, having recently escaped the ignoble fate of appearing naked as the centerpiece of a Thanksgiving table, join in the feast. Avian ambrosia from their generous benefactors. Such largesse is seldom seen among rival woods critters. And the tocs tic on.
Winter leaves hang like tattered rags.
But the mountain warms to red in the morning sun. A new day dawns.
“So ‘Come gather ’round people
Wherever you roam
And admit that the waters
Around you have grown
“Times, They Are A-Changin”
Bob Dylan
And A-changin’. And changin’, and changin’ again–
And the tocs tic on.
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Thanks Deb! A function of age. The tocs tic on.
I think this is one of your best musings!