The leaves are only budding on the trees and the weather teases, with warm days and chilly nights. The temperature creeps up and then it creeps down. Nothing is reliable in this interim period between summer and winter officially known as spring. It's a place where the chill of winter languishes in patches longer than expected.
Spring on the prairies. What does that mean exactly? It's a tangled web of weather uncertainty - rather like the beginnings of a suspense, nothing is for sure.
Nothing for sure except the fact that the last bank of snow in the back yard officially melted to nothing less than a week ago. The birds have been diving at bird feeders for weeks now and a sparrow has taken charge of the bird house. The crows arrived for an early visit and then flew off - destination unknown.
Today, a ratty looking squirrel with a patch of fur missing from an obvious mating spat, arrives on the deck with a hopeful look. I feed him a peanut or two - and possibly the attacker as well, when another appears shortly after. It's a divisive job this occasional feeding of squirrels for there's those that agree and those that disagree.. But I can't help it, for even in the city, living in the so-called wild, isn't easy.
Anyway, enough city wilderness philosophy. It's time to get back to writing where ironically I'm going to put my heroine and hero in the most uncomfortable situation I can come up with. And no, unlike the squirrels, I won't be providing food or shelter. They have to come out of that on their own. Okay, I'll offer them a route to safety right after I throw them into a pit of danger.
the adventure begins today!
Ryshia
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