0°C (32°F) We’re just at the turning point. We had a good, drippy rain this morning, at about 39°, and now it’s turning into a straight-down steady snow. The grass is already white. Thick, twisted trunks stand out stark black against the washed-out greys fading into unconscious white. My mind is hanging on to those trunks.
The birds and squirrels are scrambling to get one last bite before hunkering down. I’ve never seen so many at once at our two little feeders (we’ve only been here a year, so maybe that has something to do with it). Even our thistle feeder, usually sparsely populated, is bristling with birds’ tails.
I count at least a dozen birds – goldfinches in winter’s olive drab, chickadees, blue jays, nuthatches and a pair of cardinals. There are also the requisite squirrels, including a charming little red that in the last week or so has decided to make our feeders a regular stop.