Great Gettin' Up Mornin'

I could hear Harry Belafonte warbling (I wore out his records when I was a teenager) yesterday morning as I walked down to the barn in a light jacket and no stocking cap, it was that warm (comparatively speaking).  Let out of the coops, the chickens were able to get a drink instead of sucking on ice cubes.  Sheila didn't stand and shiver when I put hands on her udder.  It truly was a great morning.  Drawn like moths to the light, after chores Bessie and I (with a book) went out to sit on the deck in the sunshine.  Ahhh, that renewed my spirit.  Having burned the last stick of firewood from the porch rack, I made many trips to the woodpile in the afternoon.  One has to plan ahead, and I started the stove again as soon as I'd restocked the rack because the sun and the temperature dropped about the same time.  It had been the first day in what seemed like ages that I'd let the fire go out, but it doesn't do to let the house get cold; it takes forever to warm it up again.  My niece in New Hampshire called.  She pooh-poohed what I called cold, seeing as how her yard was under two or three feet of snow, had been and would be for another three or four months.  It's all relative when it's below freezing, snow or no snow.  It's a balmy thirty-eight degrees today; another great gettin' up mornin'.