Standing in the middle of someone else’s white lawn.
Once upon a time, it was a farmer’s field, I’m sure.
Out in God’s country where the road snakes alongside the eastern shore of Cayuga Lake.
It’s not cold enough for a lake freeze. Yet.
But, I’m told that it just might do that later in the season.
When those of us who live here year round will either dig ourselves in for the rest of the winter or we will figure out how to make the best of it.
Shake it in our teeth like a terrier with a rag toy that squeaks; not giving up until that toy splits into pieces – its stuffing cascading onto the floor like fat snow flakes
That someone will have to pick up. Later.
By then, we’ll be on to something else; one step closer to that rainbow’s end. [gplus count=”true” size=”Medium” ]