Day 94: "I'm singin' in the snow, Just singin' in the snow." If Song Sparrow's feet weren't firmly anchored in the white stuff, he might just blow away. The forecast "wind event" has materialized, along with a few flakes ("few" as of this writing, anyway), and it looks like Snowmageddon is revving up for another round. Crow (me) is developing an acute case of cabin fever, but like my little feathered friend here, I'm sheltering in place unless it's absolutely mandatory that I venture further out than the safety of my nest. On the up side of things, daylight has become noticeably longer, a lighter shade of grey than twilight. I've heard rumours of a great golden orb, although I'm inclined to believe the tale is mythological. Perhaps my memory of those halcyon days in wildflower meadows is faulty, or drawn from a dreamscape. There's certainly no evidence to prove otherwise.
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