Snow on My Tongue

Dear Diary,

Cold, white stuff fell from the sky, yesterday.  I can no longer deny that I am in the Northland.  I let the flakes fall on my tongue and melt . . . my tummy fluttered from the coldness . . . I'm calling it nostalgia.  I went bowling, last night.  Not much else to do in this frozen mecca.  I bowled a strike in the last frame, two seconds after the computer shut down.  I have witnesses . . . really!   Back home, signs are in English and Spanish.  Here, they are in English and Ojibwe.  What a great way for our society to teach children a second language.  I should be trilingual by the time I return home.  Enough to let you know if a store is opened or closed, anyway.  I saw ANOTHER deer on my walk, this morning.  He walked out in front of me, looked at me, lifted his head, then turned tail and bolted.  I guess I looked suspicious.  My nephew won a rifle at the local grocery store.  That NEVER would happen at home.  I am in a completely different world, up here.  I still love the mornings on the river, the best.  That I will, indeed, miss.