Mulling things on my morning ramble
with Storm, the family's mixed Lab.
It felt nice to walk out this morning and realize, with the predawn in the mid-40s, I would need a fleece over my deer-emblazoned white sweatshirt. And my green Ducks Unlimited hat had to warm my dome.
I used to love summer.
And hate fall.
This may have been the year of the great change for me. Probably just age catching up, but the historic heat and humidity of this summer made for a slog through July and August.
The meathead loves this stuff. His Labness comes out with the cooler change.
Calling him frisky would damm with faint praise.
He chased squirrels up trees and dragged me along. This on a morning when dozens of squirrels rooted in yards and dashed off to the sides of elms and maples.
Maybe it was something in the coolest morning since May that triggered a memory to stockpile nuts and stuff, but the bushy-tailed rodents were everywhere.
It was so chilled that thick mists lifted off the dew on the softball field and streamed off the town pond.
From under the bridge over the neckdown between the two old clay pits, a great blue heron flapped off when we approached. On the far end, another heron lifted off and joined it.
Usually, I don't see the heron under the bridge until late October or early November. Something must set up with water temperatures that draws the small fish shallow in the neckdown in the fall.
I didn't expect it today.
No frogs jumped from shore.