Quiet Time

There's an owl in the woods across the lake. The fact that I can hear him emphasizes how quiet it can be here on a foggy morning. It is quite a change from the never ending sound of surf that awakened me every morning last month. I miss that already.

Walking Patches is a noisy experience. Dry, brittle live oak leaves snap, crackle and crunch like a bowl of Rice Krispies just after you've poured on the milk. The campground brochure states that there are snakes here, but I can't imagine one being within one hundred feet of us with all the noise I make walking over the thick layer of fallen leaves. The cat is in seventh heaven here with so many new odors and hidden places to investigate in such a small area. The huge stack of cut timber is a daily challenge to surmount and then use to survey her domain. Because once we settle in at a campground, the campground belongs to Patches until we leave.

The change back to Standard Time has us moving into that semi-hibernation mode, when you add chilly evening temperatures to the mix. Everyone here stays inside after dinner because it's full dark by then and too cold for a camp fire. Patches is restricted to the rig at that point because I have no idea of what type of critters come out at night and have no desire to find out. Fortunately I still have a load of programs taped from the four weeks we were without a television in the living room and a cupboard full of paperbacks to read so long evenings are not a problem. Besides, with the way time passes now it won't be that long until spring rolls around and Daylight Savings Time kicks back in. So for now I'll enjoy the evenings snuggled down with a cup of hot chocolate and a good book and the company of my bestest buddy. Long nights aren't really so bad.