Heat Wave

At almost 5pm my walking partner, Gunnar, and I hit the road. We headed down the driveway--by way of every blade of grass on the lawn and paddocks--to get to the mailbox and retrieve our letters. It is only halfway through March in Wisconsin and our climate seems to have skipped spring and headed to summer: 70 and sunny! (Or, what I used to call "February" in Arizona).

G-man and I dropped the mail off on a huge chunk of moss under a tree and weighed it down with a rock, while heading to the woods behind the house. The goats watched us go; they were jealous. Gunnar didn't care what the goats thought: he still remembers how "electrifying" ruminants can be if lunged at! Poor guy.

As we meandered along, I got lost in the beauty of an early spring and started singing, "the hills are alive with the sound of music!" Okay, I didn't...but I thought it. And then I thought, "Gee, Mr. H and I almost have enough live bodies on this little farm to have the entire VonTrapp clan."

And then the white Husky peed on his leash..."Ray....a drop of golden........"sun?"


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