It's cold now. Flurries last night. Highs in the 30s and 40s all week. It seems like just last week...indeed, it was. Sunday before Thanksgiving was 75. I'm glad we raked leaves when we did, because there's no way I would now.
The juncos are in full force. The various sweetgum trees have popped open their seedpods (the cursed sweetgum balls), coating all surfaces with tiny brown seeds. Juncos eat it up and sit in my magnolia, fat and happy. The mourning doves sit on my porch fluffed up, keeping each other warm. The black Weegie stray with a half a tail is back in the early evenings, hissing at me from under the porch and begging for food. He's so unappealing and yet I've named him Woolly Bear and consider him part of life here between the sycamores.
Billy's in shoes full-time now, when he isn't in sleepers. Fiona has requested more "fleecy" pants for school. Meaning sweatpants. And Daisy dropped the vanity and put on her big brown parka this morning.
Eta holodno, they'd say in Russian. It's cold.
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