Cold and frosty morning in The Grove.
In these hard times shops are closing. It is the season of percentages. Fifty percent off in one instance. Seventy-five in another. But always with the weasel words "Up to" skillfully inserted so as not to be noticed by customers eager for a bargain.
Weather forecasts, professional and amateur, are unhelpful most of the time . Black clouds are massing in the West. It's going to rain. But where? Not here. Or there. but not down the road. There is no precision. My own all-purpose weather saw is:
" All signs and portents do ignore
't will rain when it rains, not one minute after,
not one before".
In these hard times shops are closing. It is the season of percentages. Fifty percent off in one instance. Seventy-five in another. But always with the weasel words "Up to" skillfully inserted so as not to be noticed by customers eager for a bargain.
Weather forecasts, professional and amateur, are unhelpful most of the time . Black clouds are massing in the West. It's going to rain. But where? Not here. Or there. but not down the road. There is no precision. My own all-purpose weather saw is:
" All signs and portents do ignore
't will rain when it rains, not one minute after,
not one before".
3 comments:
Lovely photo! And a weather forecast that is always right!
Poor frozen little Squirrel. No heater, no blankets, no warm soup or tea.
Squirrel appears to beg: "Please, sir, have you a peanut to spare? A crust of bread, perhaps?"
Lovely frosty scene, Plutarch.
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