The night is already very cold, and the silence is such that, had I not raked the leaves, the reports of their crackling would have seemed quite loud had I walked on them. But the ground is clear and my footfalls are hushed. It will freeze tonight, but just barely, so I don't expect any damage to the plants. Though tomorrow is to be cloudy, tonight the sky is clear and the stars bright. Another blustery rainstorm is expected on Thursday, but it will be warmer then so the snow level should remain well above my elevation.
I'm going to pay one last visit to the feral cats before I hunker down for the night under a pile of blankets. The garage cat gets to sleep atop the water heater, which retains some warmth all night, but the others will have to find what shelter from the cold they can. If I wake early enough tomorrow I expect I'll find a thin crust of ice on their water bowls, but if I sleep late the morning sun ought to melt it away quickly enough. The cats have been through colder nights than this, so I'm sure they'll manage, but I still wish I had warmer places for all of them. I hope Portia appreciates how lucky she is.
Sunday Verse
Evening: Night
by Bruce Dawe
At such a mauve
moment as this the glamorous
evening walks abroad,
Who sees her pass,
whether as a mere deepening
of the air's texture, or
As a darkness
risen insistent as scent
under the distant trees
Will sigh later
in the night to remember her
deft pastel elegance,
Preferring it
to that of the diamond-bosomed
neon-wristed one
he walks with then.