This is what we saw on Thursday from the front porch while Julie, Robert and I were waiting for
Barney Crocker to prepare our Thanksgiving feast.
Not often that there is a full end-to-end rainbow. This looks like the pot of gold might be in the bed of Tom Dually, but, alas, it really is in Dungeness Bay, probably in an abandoned crab pot.
This is Saturday morning. Looks like a twangy country western song waiting in the wings. Something about my love froze on the branch and my heart turned to ice.
I'll get back to you on that as soon as my fiddle gets tuned.
Out here so close to the water we have that sharp icy and snow, but seven miles away in town it was about two inches of fluffy playful snow. The mountains look gorgeous with their new hats, but the roads are very slippery. Beware the black ice.
How lucky I am to have a warm and cozy Packer sideline jacket
for my trek don the driveway for the morning paper. Thank you, Nicole.
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