Fickle Season Person is Back!

Fickle Season Person has reappeared! How could I have said that fall, then winter, were my favorite seasons when everyone knows nothing can beat spring. Had I lost my mind?

Every hour I see more changes outside: another new leaf pops up on the oak leaf hydrangea, a new daffodil unfurls her yellow petals, the dogwood blossoms increase in size, and the gold finches seem to become more brilliant. (I took this picture through my bedroom window this morning.) On the lake, ducks swim in close twos as they profess their undying love to each other; soon new babies will trail along behind them.

Fishermen, their rods secured in holders, cruise slowly as they watch for schools of fish on their fish finders. My Dad was a great fisherman. Even if present-day technical equipment had been available when he fished the North Carolina creeks and rivers, I doubt he would have used them. Dad could eye the shoreline, drop his lure exactly where he wanted it on his first cast, and usually hook a bass. For years his favorite motor was a 3.3 Evinrude that would crank on the first pull. Whenever I'd take the wooden skiff out by myself to explore, he'd put that little 3.3 on my boat. He knew it wouldn't fail me.