Bitter

cold -- of the kind that turns my fingers red, numb, white (though gloved and stuffed into wool-lined pockets) and fingernails purple, the kind that makes me fumble when I try to press any button on my camera and dries my eyes straining to see anything clearly, even my own shadow, reddens my nose and cheeks, whips up my jeans and down my socks -- may slow me down, but doesn't stop me from a brisk walk and a look, especially a slightly cheering one on seeing more water in Lake Cheston but still depressing given the appearance of segmented hardened earth -- like quilt patches -- of once-mud-then-packed-dry-blocks under that water; then the pronounced shadows, the long shadows that slash the reddened grasses standing up to the teens and the icy winds, teaching me to surrender to weather and still walk, still see, then recover with tea and warm water and cats, always doing the smart thing: hunkering in their round beds.

Headed for a Temperature Plummet Tonight

But, as Carolyn (the University Farm manager), assured me when I commented on the healthy greens in one of the hoophouses, "Everything will be fine." 

I believe her. I have watched her and her students make miracles out at Lake Cheston. Today was no exception. 

Even the sun cooperated.

16 degrees forecast for tonight. I hope my fingers make it tomorrow as I plan to visit again.

Skystruck

I remember stars and moon and planets. Inky sky. Satellites tracking. But only on a cove in North Carolina, and on weekends at the Warrior River, and even sometimes in my own yard.

But those viewings were a long time ago. 

Childhood was a long time ago.

Not until I moved to Tennessee a little less than 15 years ago, to one tiny town and then another small one, did I truly see sky and skylights again.

Now I seek them out.

(Note to self: avoid photo forays in frigid temperatures. No wonder my fingers hurt, reddened, went numb. Bookmark this chart!)

What Every Sensible Cat Does on the First Cold Day Since Winter

Doodlebug abed.