All summer long, the old man of the birdhouse looks down on me from his six foot perch. But on April Fool’s Day, I’m looking down on him. The warm sun melts the surface of the snow during the day, and the moisture freezes into a crust at night. In the morning, I can walk on water…in snow form.
The pathway to the barn, shovelled clear all winter, is bare ground now. The rest of the yard is still buried beneath nearly two feet of snow. Here’s Pookie, ignoring me as I laugh down at her from the snowy heights.
Willow House Chronicles 