Flirting with Frost

A May long morning before the fog lifts

Thank you so much for following, commenting, liking and subscribing 💫

Warm beneath my blankets with a cat at my feet, I sit up and look out the window. The house is cold, around 10°C. The sun is already up, illuminating newly sprouted blades of grass in the lawn. They’re glowing white, and I rub my eyes and squint until the frost comes into focus. It’s been warm for weeks, and I’d considered planting my seedlings, but I’m glad I didn’t. Time to get a fire started.

My frosty 87 Toyota 2wd

There’s something about the brisk transition from warm blankets to an oversized sweatshirt that I adore. I start a fire and turn on the inverter to the coffee maker. After years without, letting a machine make my coffee is a strange but welcome change. The rooster hasn’t crowed yet - it’s too early even for him, but I throw on my rubber boots to let out the animals while my coffee brews.

As I step out the door, I slip on the frosty step. I giggle in the crazy way we sometimes do when narrowly escaping impending doom. Not today, frost.

The ducks excitedly run to the pond, all quacks and flapping wings. Three are large ducks with big bellowing quacks, and two are little ducks with Donald Duck voices. One of the little ones sounds like she was a chain smoker in a past life. I let out the chicks, another excited flurry of feathers, and go back to the house for my coffee, carefully walking up the step.

The cats go out, and I tell them to get the gopher across the yard, before it eats my hazelnut trees. I add some wood to the fire and pour my coffee. It’s Victoria Day weekend, aka May long, and I wonder if this cold weather will put a damper on people’s weekend plans. The frost on the roof begins to melt and drip as I sip my coffee and think about what the day might bring.

Nan and I the last time I visited Ontario

I remember, today is my Nanny’s birthday. My mum’s mum. I can’t imagine what it’s like to have been born in 1931. I give her a call, she and my mum are driving somewhere. They’re 3 hours ahead of me; their day is already well underway. Nanny’s short-term memory isn’t great, but her long-term is thankfully intact, and I tell her if I were turning 95, I’d forget too, which makes her laugh.

The list for today is long, but weather-dependent. I sip my coffee as a mist rolls around the yard and settles. I suspect that from the town below, my mountain is clouded over at the top. The world has gone out of focus; this time it isn’t my eyes. A raven perches on a bare tree top, calling to its mate.

What the day will bring is uncertain, but I’ve had my coffee, flirted with frost, and started my day with Nan’s laugh.