I saw a squirrel with a newspaper this morning.
No, seriously. I actually did see a squirrel with a newspaper.
Well, with a sheet of newspaper, anyway.
In the first hour after sunrise, before people are up and about, the city belongs to the squirrels. (I actually groaned when I saw where the Sun came up today: already so far South of his Northern-most Midsummer rising, rapidly approaching due East and the Equinox.)
At that hour, it was just me and the squirrels. I'd gone out to collect a case of apples: the next best thing to having an apple tree yourself is to have picking rights on someone else's.
That's when I saw the squirrel. Actually, in the still morning I heard it before I saw it. Compared to a squirrel, a full sheet of newspaper is huge, but the squirrel was doing his best to drag the awkward thing along. Unfortunately, he was trying to walk with one forefoot on the ground and the other on top of the sheet, and not having an easy time of it.
A squirrel with a newspaper? Yep, it's that time of year. Sun going South: Winter coming. Now, as the apples are picking, is time to start insulating that dray of yours with all those good air-trapping things like leaves and sheets of newspaper, that are going to keep you warm through the cold to come.
(Good old English. What other language has a specific name for a squirrel's nest?)
The squirrel lining its nest, me gathering the apples that I'm going to cook down into the applesauce that will sweeten the long nights ahead.
A squirrel with a newspaper: an omen, if you know how to read it.
Winter coming, it says.