room with a gloomy view
Gloomier than than the darkest day in winter is a day like this; the fiery orange explosion of maple trees has become a slippery groundcover, rain is dripping with apathy, all the critters are hunkered down out of sight, and all that remains of autumn’s splendor is the tough old rust colored leaves that just won’t fall. It is neither warm, nor cold, but tepid; it is neither Christmas nor the 4th of July. It is the morning after, a party dress on New Year’s Day, a hangover. It is very, very hard to motivate.
Right now I am trying to motivate myself to go find Clarabelle and remove her collar. The task seems daunting, even though I’ve left a sled and trap and chickenwire out near her last tree. I’d really just like to reason with her, explain that I’m simply going to take her collar off, and have her offer up her little neck so I can slice through the nylon collar. This works about as well as reasoning with my niece that she should cultivate some table manners. Teenagers and wild animals, as I’ve said before, have a lot in common.
Here I go, into the woods.
