Arctic wind cut through the animal's fur coat as a
Badger crept across a sagging front porch trying to escape the
Cyclone's blast. Once again nature's
Drama was playing out in the
Eccentric weather of this strange midwestern summer. A crotchety voice inside the cabin croaked,
"Fork me over another one of them steaks, would ya?"
"Gladly, hubby" whined another, "but you done et the last one already." Then followed a
Hiccup and a delicate "ahem."
Insightful providence had led the old wife to stock the larder with
Jelly and jam against the eventual winter, but meat was harder to come by. The old man had
Killed and skinned a skinny squirrel the day before, but that was all. It was the season to be sipping
Limeade on the front porch and complaining about the heat, but two weeks ago a
Monstrosity of a cold front had moved in quickly from Canada, and the
Numbers on the thermometer hadn't registered above 20 degrees Fahrenheit since Tuesday.
Orchids out in the greenhouse wore a rime of frost, and the only
Pleasant place to be was hunkered down in front of the fireplace.
Quiet scuttling could be heard in the silence between gusts of wind as mice nestled into the
Rhomboid spaces in the rafters.
Sticky pine sap dripped to the floor from the not-yet-cured wood the old man had stacked in a
Teetering pile in the corner. His wife was
Understandably skeptical of how they would survive this strange weather. Just then the man took a
Violin from the wall. He wiped the squirrel grease from his
Whiskered face and put the fiddle to his chin. In the lilting melody that followed, his wife forgot his
Xanthic skin and the worry that clouded her own brow. A feeling of peace and love, reminiscent of
Yesteryear and long ago courting days, replaced the numbing cold. "Geezer," whispered the wife,
"Zanzibar would be warmer, but I would rather be cold with you, than warm anywhere else."