It's one of those days when it just feels dark outside no matter what time the sun sets. I cannot complain about the thermometer reading: 31 degrees at dusk. But weather.com tells me it feels like 18 out there and though I avoid having someone tell me what I should feel, I have to admit -- that's a pretty accurate assessment. Maybe 8 would be an even better guess as to how it felt walking to the donkey car after work.
The wind right now is brutal.
Of course, it's tough to give you a photo of a winter wind. There are the shivering trees. And the blowing snows across country roads (our snow cover isn't substantial right now, but what little there is blows right across, as if being chased by some holy terror). But the howl, the force of the wind is far greater than that. I'm thinking maybe I should detour just by a block or two and swing toward lake Monona, for a brief look out there.
(yes, there is a lonely figure braving the winds in the middle of the lake)
It was so cold that I lasted all of five seconds.
(and a hut with a fisherman in it)
Two photos and I am back inside the donkey car, thanking the little engine for producing a good, warm stream of air.
At home, I can hear the wind howling, loud and strong. Snow is coming down now. Or coming at us, in a horizontal direction. It would be a perfect day for staying put, not venturing anywhere at all, except, our town has a Common Council meeting tonight and both Ed and I want to present our reasons for stalling development just to the east of us. So after a quick supper of eggs and various veggies and a salad (the only color you'll get here today)...
...we bundle up and emboldened, we set out. At the meeting, we say our stuff, listen to the vote (it's never in our favor, but we're chipping away, at least at the edges) and then, finally, we retreat to the farmhouse right as the blizzard-like snows add fresh layers of thick white stuff to the landscape.
Four deer stand by the road and watch the old donkey car struggle up the snow covered pavement. The wind continues to cause the trees to shiver. The night sounds of owls will be muted tonight, indecipherable. Instead, we'll listen to a loud roar, a gust, another roar. A concert of winter noises. I'm hoping it's the season's crescendo. That in a day or two, maybe three, we'll have moved on. To spring.
