Ahhh, it's that time of year when the word prognostication gets dragged out of the lexicon into the light of day for it is Groundhog Day. At least in the northeastern portion of the USofA.
This is thee day when rodents, viable and stuffed, get to do just that regarding the duration of the season at hand. Prognostication of snaps, fronts, bands, accumulation.
Today at the university, between buildings, Ridge Lee Larry worked his deader-than-doorknob magic.
He, stuffed and adorned, and mounted onto a sliver of a log, is placed on a mound of snow in front of a faux groundhog hole and stares glassily out, in a twenty-yard stare, to tell the assembled if there will be more weeks of winter.
Or not.
There was no shadow (surprise) and so it is more winter.
While waiting for the festivities attached to the mounting of the dead and mounted Larry spoke to a few safety officers who showed up. They had nice, embroidered jackets and were there, they said, to check up on things. They had just run a fire alarm check but thought they'd check to see if the crockpots in a vestibule were not in danger of shortcircuiting. They said. I asked if perhaps they might also be concerned that Ridge Lee Larry was in harm's way - Larry's handler left him rather precariously next to the gas grill where dogs and burgers were roasting away. He is stuffed, old. I'm sure his pelt is quite crisp. I have never touched Larry. There was, in a scrapbook, an image of a student kissing Larry's face.
In conclusion:
Happy Ridge Lee Larry Day, Middling City.

Rodential Love.