Indian Summer

Earlier this week Marcellus residents were amazed to see the mercury rise to record heights. Basking in a balmy 75 degrees, the crows were polishing off the seeds that spilled out of the melted pumpkin carcasses leftover from Halloween. Killer was spread out on the front sidewalk, dreaming of her next meal. Pushing back her baseball cap and surveying the back forty, Mrs. Hall reflected on the warm sunshine, the upcoming snows and how she was going to bribe Ian and some of his heftier friends into moving the lawn tractor into the shed and getting the snow blower out; a tactical maneuver that closely resembled solving one of those old fashioned number-slide puzzles.
While Mr. Hall "watched" the football game inside, Mrs. H. chuckled to herself for having outwitted the weather gods this year in their annual parlor game. Usually the first snow, early in October, incites all manner of activity in the neighborhood. Mowers get stowed and snow blowers pop up in garages everywhere, thus prompting record breaking warmth and sufficient rain to require one last crew cut of the old fescue. But unprecedented cunning (or perhaps just some of the casual procrastination espoused by Mr. H.) had persuaded them to leave the lawn tractor out back long enough this year to allow for some final touchups.