The squirrels were packing their tree in my backyard. I inquired where they would be going and was told south because winter was coming.
I managed to stay inside last winter without my paws ever touching the ground, only going out for car rides, where I sat in an overly heated vehicle. Those with senior parents will know what I mean. I didn't mind. I was no friend of the cold.
When I entered my forever home in July last year, I laid the groundwork for staying inside during the frozen months. When going on walks, I would sit, refusing to let the sight of my newly acquired house slip away until I knew I could find my way back home.
Winter was a pure spectator event for me last year, but when spring came, and there were so many fancy smells in the air, I began to walk further from my house, confident I could find my way back if a band of roving gypsies carried off my Dad. Soon, walking became something I looked forward to every day. I walk at supper time, but after the first weekend in November, when the whole world is picking up and putting somewhere darker, I may walk around lunchtime, which will be cold.
But maybe my dislike of the cold has kept winter at bay this year.
The hanging plant, which, weeks ago, shed its last blossom and was hung from a tree, not for stealing a horse, but so it wouldn't hang by the front window, a bitter reminder that summer had left, is blossoming again.
Beyond that, in front of the railroad ties, where the snails who nibble on the leaves at night hide, the 100-year-old rose bush has reblossomed, not as splendidly as it did in the spring, but still, a sure sign of spring in October.
Also, the inpatients, who struggled in the July heat and battled root rot, have spread in Fo;ey's garden and the bicycle basket. A grey fall day becomes a hopeful spring if you squint your eyes.
The scientists say this has to do with global warming, the jet stream, water temperature, and climate change, but I say it is because winter does not want to arrive and see this face.
Frankly, I can't blame it.