A Sign
Hobo Camp Review
The weather is cold here in Florida, much to my dislike.
For myself - and I would imagine most native and almost-native Floridians - the determination of what constitutes a true cold “winter” here in the Sunshine State boils down to two cold fronts tops with temperatures below forty degrees, but above freezing.
This weather platitude warns a message. Leave our wildlife and plant life be. In fact, leave us alone as well. We are not wired for cold.
The dead squirrel found on the driveway after the first front this year, I took that as a bad sign.
It was a different sort of squirrel, more brown than gray sporting a punk thatch of fur spiking its forehead, but so so thin, perhaps a juvenile on its own. A cold weather critter house - chock full with warming straw for any small animal in need of shelter - stood available a couple of squirrel leaps away. I sat with the still one a bit and whispered how sorry I was, but happy to have found him before the red hawk or turkey buzzard that soar the property did. It rests now at peace in the warmest spot during a cold snap, a secret place we call the Hobbit House, lush with sword ferns even on the coldest of days.
Cold front number three pushed through on the heels of front two earlier this week. Three is past the collective acceptance of two, officially entering the zone of pushing the limits of the cold-impaired.
On my way out of Target, the incoming edge of the front windswept the parking lot like something out of the movie DUNE.
I was wearing a t-shirt dress. No jacket. Not happy.
This initial blast dropped the temperature 15 degrees in less than thirty minutes.
No bueno.
The “no more than two cold fronts” winter narrative is now officially filed along with the folk tale that the City of Sarasota, Florida would never be hit by a hurricane.
The good sign is the squirrel population thrives on undaunted, utilizing much better weather sense than I obviously demonstrate. They seek shelter earlier in the late afternoon, snug in their wonderfully shabby chic nests built at the crown of cabbage palms, perhaps bunking with their kids and neighbors, remaining civil, if only for a couple of nights.
The concrete block house we call home will take a good few days to build back the warmth needed to cycle on the air conditioner. For this afternoon, my eye is on a patch of sunshine close to the Hobbit House. Later, I’ll drag over a chair and sit down with Carson McCullers’ The Heart is a Lonely Hunter and recall tough times depicted as fiction.
Speaking of signs, those who travel the lonely old highways of the States have seen their fair share of billboards, both the modern and the falling apart. Such signs get my writer mind thinking “what if”, specifically those fancy ones complete with all the high tech bells and whistles. It’s the ladders though that fascinate me, the climb up the sign and on to why.
I leave you with “A Sign” a micro published this month by Hobo Camp Review. (Issue 50 Winter 2026 link here). View the sign that inspired the story here. For those who enjoy storytellers, find a warm cozy spot around the fire and read on!
Thank you, HCR editors and thank you readers for reading.
Oh and for going on about the cold weather which likely sounds more like a beach day to those shoveling real winter white stuff, enjoy this photograph of quite possibly my favorite less than traditional billboard of all times, Dinah the Dinosaur located somewhere off Main Street (US-40) in Vernal, Utah, United States.
Be safe out there. The roads in cold weather (or so I hear) can prove treacherous.
‘Lookit,’ Bubber said suddenly. ‘Here comes Baby again. She sure is pretty in the pink costume.’
Carson McCullers, The Heart is a Lonely Hunter, Chapter 5, p166. First Mariner Books edition 2000.
Sending warm thoughts to those experiencing the current major winter storm ! I am in awe of how you get through such a weather phenomenon Be safe.