When snow fell the day before Thanksgiving, I’d warned Sage not to get his hopes up. “It won’t be enough for you to build anything, and what does fall won’t last long,” I told him.
He proved me wrong on one of the two counts, though: To my amazement, he parlayed the inch of snow that accumulated into a highly respectable snow fort, complete with a tunnel entrance. (I have to admit that his father did help, but Sage gets credit for his many hours of digging and scraping.)
Alas, climate change hath given, and it hath taken away: The snow fort is only a memory now. Fortunately, Sage withstood the loss with surprising fortitude, and he and his buddy spent the morning building a brush fort on the once-more naked landscape.
On the plus side, I’d mourned my sturdy little pansies the night before a hard frost was predicted. I was premature in my sadness, though: the pansies are battered but still blooming doggedly. Their defiance in the face of encroaching winter heartens me. Sometimes it’s good to be wrong.