Getting Old - 2

Four days into March and the weather is still crappy. The forty-five minute drive was under an overcast sky. Slight drizzle kept the windshield wipers intermittently moving road sludge from one side to the other. The rain couldn’t keep the driving crazies from slipping and sliding all over the road. Even the soft trumpet tones of Till Bronner on the jazz station didn’t lighten the dreariness.

After being cooped up in the office, I walked to the parking lot. The day turned beautiful. Across the street I found my “candy” for the day.

A golden hue from the sun glowed off the rows of remnant cornstalks in the open field. In foreground a huge oak tree spread its dark naked arms like stretching from a long winter’s sleep. At the far end of the field bare treetops formed a black spiny, undulating hillside. Puffs of white, snowy clouds drifted in the high azure sky. A scene worthy of a Monet canvas.

Candy was never sweeter.

Ciao