Cure for Cabin Fever

A whopper snowstorm was predicted for the southeast, often shrugged off and ignored by southerners who know how that goes.

On the warm and sunny day prior to the anticipated storm, the birds knew something was on the verge of happening. There was a change in their behavior.

Birds flew in that hadn’t been seen in weeks and brought with them a sense of urgency.

Early the next morning, roaming through a dark and chilly house while all others slept, I wrapped my robe tightly around me and saw through the windows a bright, cool blanket covering the landscape.

It was snowing heavily - the fluffy, lightweight kind that’s not good for building snowmen, and was just lovely.

The first day was a fun and frigid one. Chloe returned to the back door quickly, teeth chattering.

Just before dusk the birds scrambled for their last meal of the day while there was

sleet.

It poured. The gentle sound of it tapping on my hood of my parka brought nostalgia of a cozy, warm home during storms like this and anticipation, mixed with a bit of anxiety…

Will there be school tomorrow?

Far overhead a raptor flapped its wings on a westward flight and without much thought or care, I snapped a quick photo, not knowing who it was but knowing the bird was not ordinary. Later that evening there was a Bald Eagle in a snapshot I almost ignored. A gift!

Overnight, the sleet and freezing rain encased the fluffy snow in ice.

Without a scent to snorgle or eyesight to see a familiar path, what about old Chloe?

Alone with Chloe, Bella and

shards of dangerous ice that are feared and crippling.

Cramping my style.

Wishing to flee

to work

to dance

to anywhere.

By the third day, sometimes on the brink of tears, mad as a hornet, and trapped like a deranged mouse in a maze. That was me.

Those who rearrange closets and deep clean their homes during times like this have good control.

No, not I. Instead, pacing, monitoring, fearing lack of control. Are we creatures of habit? Naturally nomads?

My saving graces were camera, boots, parka, and love of things that sparkle.

The beauty of ice. Its glistening charm seduced and relaxed a worrisome soul.

Metallic under the clouds.

Grin at a sunny reflection of a royal blue coat on the leaf of a butterfly bush.

The birds were slipping and sliding and perhaps were happy that the seed lady shoveled a path to their diner.

The third and last day of the fever was intense. This worrisome soul sought therapy outdoors many times, leaving the cabin fever inside. There were countless pleasant surprises that day.

The ice didn’t matter anymore

because there’s nothing sweeter than to find

an Eastern Bluebird and Carolina Wren meet,

“Hello. How do you do? Grand peanuts, ey?”

Nose running, eyes watering, and fingers stinging.

No concern about that.

What a relief.

Nature saved a worrisome soul.

Me.