Barnstorming on an Invisible Segway

I think there ought to be a natural law about how it can't rain on Winter Solstice. I don't believe in omens, but really. I'm not just saying this because I have to walk the dog today, either: it's just not right. I am hoping that things will dry up for awhile this afternoon, but I'm not putting a great deal of faith in it. Probably the wee beast and I will have a very damp tramp and then the last of the really good hot cocoa (me) and a scruff on my comforter (her).

Anyway, happy Solstice all around. More light to you and yours. Me, I'm working on "Carter Hall Lights the Lamp" today, which seems like a thing. Possibly even a good thing.

Happy beast, happy girl! A bit ago, timprov pointed out the window and said, "Look!" It was snowing -- huge flakes, practically each a snowball in itself. So I threw on my coat and hat and gloves before it could change its mind, and out we went, Ista and me. And she romped and pranced and sniffed everything, some things twice, and I grinned at passing motorists, and we had the park all to ourselves, snow on our noses and in our eyelashes. Every once in awhile she would stop to shake the snow off her fur and then do a little skitter-step looking up at me, so very glad we were sharing this exciting wonderful thing.

When we finished the loop around the park and started the walk home, the snow had already obliterated our footprints from the walk out.

Herself got a cookie when we got in, and I'm drinking the last of the really good hot cocoa, and when it's gone I'll get back to "Carter Hall Lights the Lamp," in high solstice spirits.

Some people say that puns are the lowest form of humor, but sometimes I think surrealism is.