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Sunday afternoon. The sky was a finger-painting mess of greys, blues, whites, and yellows. The clouds were moving fast. The wind was blowing hard but the air was warm. I was walking back from the garage after dropping off the trash. I paused to take it in. To watch the grass to ripple like small silver waves. Like a hand was strumming the grass.

And then there was the sound of a squirrel churring. I saw its nest in the skeleton of a tree. And then I followed the branches down until I saw the grey squirrel huddled on a branch. I decided to churr back and see its reaction. It skittered down the branches and then onto the chain-link fence that borders our yard on the south. 

It felt like a day where early Spring accidentally crossed paths with late Fall. Those kind of days that always signify an oncoming storm or at least an oncoming change in weather. A drop in temperature. And sure enough, there are threats of a little snow. 

Sunday afternoons are full of small gifts.