February

The little pear tree in the middle of the meadow looks so tiny, small and lonely in the sea of white snow which now buries its trunk up to its lowest branches. Out in the barn tiny mice are hidden away in nests of cardboard shreds and rope fibers and string and strips of fabric pulled from old rags and carefully constructed inside idle old farm equipment and wherever they think they can stay warm and safe for the winter. The hungry feral barn cats survive by sniffing them out for a meal, if they can, or venture up to the old log cabin where they know they will find a bowl of cat food left out for them on the back deck. They must summon up their bravery, or have their fear overcome by hunger, to sneak up there through the deep snow, for if they aren’t careful and stealthy, George, the dog at the cabin, will sound the alert if he hears them on the deck late at night. Then all hell will explode and wake the whole house as he jumps off the warm crowded bed to jump against the thick glass of the back doors making all the noise he can manage. Continue reading