The Visitors

You might have expected that after the snow adventures we had on Saturday, we might have awakened Sunday morning to find ourselves in traction. Sledding is lots of fun, but it is not for the faint of heart! But fortunately, aside from some minor stiffness and a few scrapes here and there, my husband and I were both fine.

The weather was still quite warm, compared to the recent past. Which is to say that it was above freezing. Things started to melt a little. We pounded the last few icy spots off the drive way. But mostly it was an indoor day: gray, overcast, a bit drippy.

It was a day for a cooked breakfast; for apple crisp, hot and cinnamony, made from apples I just bought at the store last week; and later in day, for pizza, which is a typical Sunday afternoon or evening no-muss, no-fuss meal.

And around 8 pm on Sunday night, unexpectedly, my husband made us a bonus spaghetti snack using the Rizzo's meatballs and sauce that we brought along home "for later" one day late in October. (At a certain point, you just decide that "later" is now: and so, "Mangia!" as they say.)

We apparently weren't the only ones foraging for snacks. Late in the day, just as the light was starting to wane, a family group of white-tailed deer arrived in the woods behind our house and nibbled their way through every available bit of brush and twig.

We see the deer around our house occasionally. Usually, they are just passing through on their way up or down the hill. There is a doe we often see in springtime with two new fawns. I do not know if she is part of this group or not. None of these appear to be babies anymore.

I remember one time, back near the beginning, when the doe brought one of her young'uns, as we sometimes say around here, and the pair of them hung out in these woods on the very last day of white-tailed deer hunting season.

They arrived in the morning that time, and sat not far from our deck, quietly waiting out the light. It was as though they understood these woods are protected; we will not allow anyone to harm them here. When dusk fell on that day, and hunting season ended, they were gone. How could they know?

On this day, though, they merely foraged quietly for 15 or 20 minutes, sticking quite close together, before heading on their way. My husband said he saw five, but I was only able to capture four of them in this shot.

Dexter sat beside me looking out the window and we watched them together until they left. He gave them, and then me, a quizzical look: "Awfully big, funny-looking cats," he seemed to want to say; "But that's OK with me."  And it was OK with me, too . . .

The soundtrack: Harry Chapin, with Winter Song.