The weather this morning holds no hint of winter’s re-entry; no notice that a cold, frigid storm is in the near future. Some of the maples sport tentative buds and a few bushes hint of green. Squirrels are gathering fluff for their nests and birds are looking at tree branches with an eye to building. But, there’s something unseen moving our way. Sometimes change is like that–it sneaks up on you when all seems to be smooth sailing. Somewhere out there is a fierce, blustery thing called winter. Just when I thought he was on his way out, he decides to return. Expected time is this weekend. Better batten down the hatches.
Moonlight Can Be Murder is a winter book; The Cemetery Club happens in the spring.
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