Yogi might not have said “, It’s deja vu all over, ” but, if he didn’t, he should have.

The day after my trip to warmer climates is in bed, Mother Nature spreads her winter blanket and dumps snow on Albuquerque.

In the foothills, east of Albuquerque, snowflakes nestle between cactus spines, but, before noon, the sun will start to erase the white. Footprints ahead of me point up the trail and my eye catches a rabbit cutting out of a ravine and darting under a scrubby bush by a granite boulder. He might worry but I couldn’t hit him with two shotguns.

I watch as he freezes in what he believes is safety.

He is still motionless as I move again up the trail. His territory is more limited than mine but we both deal with Mother Nature, he with fur and me with a coat.

It’s winter, and, just back from a trip, I’m already packing my Toyota Sunrader again for a jaunt to Padre Island, Texas.

The last few years the only sign on my front door has been the one that says ” Gone Fishing. ”

It seems that I’m gone more than I am home and this, I figure, is as good a definition of deja vu as any.

 

 

 

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