Sunday Pic of the Day

Perched barely neck-high above tidewater on the northern shore of the Olympic Peninsula--our Canuck neighbors probably think of it as the southern shore of the Strait of Juan De Fuca--Port Angeles isn't normally gifted a White Christmas. That Holy day dawned with a thin skim trying to survive on the roofs of unheated huts and a few other chilled surfaces. I'm sure there were plenty of young kids, and a few elderly ones too, who were disappointed to see it all but vanished by noon. Perhaps it was the prayers of tobogganers, snowball warriors and Frosty builders answered that summoned a flaky return, which first teased with a flurry somewhere around 1:30 PM. That fizzled too. Just long enough to catch a frigid breath I guess; for the fall resumed in full seriousness, dense and steady before 25th December's early dusk.

Here's what I found today after warming my old frame enough to brave shoveling a path from the back door to the shop about mid-morning:

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So, I then trudged to the front yard to document the wonderland that awaits her, and I emailed the photos to a new resident of the Pacific Northwest who'd declared in August that she was looking forward to the experience of shoveling snow.

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I'm still waiting for a reply.
 
Monday is the The Retired Man's Sunday. So here is my Sunday pic today.

Compliments of a nice flush and a better retrieve by Gus. I made a half decent long shot, but it took some chasing for Gus, which he prefers (his ethics are questionable at times :) ).

No matter how many times I look at a rooster, it still amazes me that a wild critter can be so bold and brassy, especially in the low evening sun. Even those fancy tiger trout have a hard time keeping up with pheasants for color and shine.
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