Today, in my neck (finger? palm?) of the woods, AKA the great mitten state, it is the first day of firearm deer season.
Perhaps I worded that incorrectly. The deer don't have guns, nor are they made of guns, as I might have implied. But it's the first day you can hunt deer with a firearm.
I did it again, implying the deer have guns.
Anyway, I'm not hunting. Why? Because I have a February deadline. That's right. My JOB is getting in the way of what I want to do in my FREE TIME. The next person who says I don't have a job can explain to my editor why all my emails are suddenly coming from a tree stand in the woods.
I was pretty bummed about the no hunting development. For the past two years, I've been trying to get my butt out there to kill a living creature, but to no avail. However, when I look out at today's weather, I rejoice that I am not sitting in a blind somewhere freezing my carharts off.
It is snowing. Well, kind of. It's also raining. So really, it's snaining. Or rowing, I'm not sure. And it is miserable.
So, instead of climbing a ladder and tying myself to a tree in the hopes of spotting that elusive thirty point buck, I'm spending my morning at Fourth Coast, downing skim milk double lattes with sugar free caramel syrup and being, in general, warm and dry.
Alright, dear readers, what comforts dost thou turn to when the gales of November come wailing?
Cool, I just mixed faux Shakespeare with Gordon Lightfoot. My two favorite bards!