On the cusp (504)
by Max Akroyd
Late last night I had cause to stick my head out of the front door to summon a wayward dog. It was a strange world out there: the dark was noisy with cracking and trickling as the thaw accelerated.
This morning the world was still odd. The cold was in the earth but not in the sun-filled air. Clouds of mist were trapped on the ground. It was like waking up in Moominland Midwinter, which would have been a dream come true (Snufkin and Moominmamma being guru type figures in my childhood) if the semi-defrosted ground wasn’t so murderously slippy. As I write this the whole world is steaming visibly.
Even at dawn, the animals seemed to sense the changes afoot in the weather and responded by being plain naughty. Goats leaping about, hens pecking my boots and the piglets zipping around their barn as if experimenting in Brownian motion.
Gardening-wise I’m still on the cusp between frozen-out and the surly sogginess which is sure to follow all this snow. Maybe I’ll service the mower this afternoon… or, maybe not!