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And here is the snow that I alluded to yesterday…and the cold. Even the window was crying. I actually spent a lot of my day in tears as well. This weather is just not my cup of tea.
Highway 287, Boulder County, Colorado.
Quote of the day: ““You, of all people, deserve a happy ending. Despite everything that happened to you, you aren’t bitter. You aren’t cold. You’ve just retreated a little and been shy, and that’s okay. If I were a fairy godmother, I would give you your heart’s desire in an instant. And I would wipe away your tears and tell you not to cry.” — Sylvain Reynard
Spurts of creativity
Lentil the Bean
Nope, just kidding. 9.5 inches of snow so far and more coming tomorrow and Wednesday. I will curl up in my little Bungalow and drink tea and write and fight my migraine and feel the psychic pain of the nation in the wake of the Boston Marathon bombing.
Quote of the day: “The aim is to balance the terror of being alive with the wonder of being alive.” – Carlos Castaneda
Those souls who ran toward the blast to help others, not away from it
The silence of snow
Candles and prayers
Well, our massive blizzard fizzled before it happened, but it has left unseasonal cold in its wake, with temperatures dipping to eight tonight. With the wind chill, it will feel like -7. Brrr. So I will think of Anegada, and how different a storm is there than here.
Anegada, British Virgin Islands.
Quote of the Day: “So we shall let the reader answer this question for himself: who is the happier man, he who has braved the storm of life and lived or he who has stayed securely on shore and merely existed?” – Hunter S. Thompson
Being cozy at home with the cat
Not having to shovel the sidewalk
Spring is rough to rouse this year
Like a recalcitrant teenager
Pulling the covers of winter over its head repeatedly
As Mother Nature pleads, and prods it to get up.
Spring stumbles slowly into the kitchen of the earth
Dragging its heels
Needing coffee, a Red Bull, and total silence,
Glaring at the twittering birds outside the window.
Spring blinks, long and sleepy.
Spring sighs, shifting and swirling the air.
Spring stretches, brushing budding branches.
It was cold walking downtown today.
The snapdragons and the zinnias and the sweet potato vines were still blooming, but so were the red holly berries, starkly brilliant against their dark green leaves.
I felt…confused and unexpected. I had forgotten what wind chill was.
I felt 18 again.
But my trenchcoat is the wrong color.
My pockets were empty. Where were my gloves? The lady passing me had big black-and-white herringbone patterned gloves, and I complimented her on how fun they were. She smiled.
Tears spring to my eyes. From the wind or the pretty spindrift of prose in my head or the memory of being 18.
At 18, I walked another city’s streets in thin, soft Indian-print dresses and bohemian shirts, like the one I wear today.
The coolie shoes that I wore then, regardless of the weather, have been replaced by cowboy boots, as befits this city.
I remember the endless Dr. Who-like scarf that I gave to my boyfriend at Christmas, a find from a Cambridge thrift-store now long gone.
As is the boyfriend.
And probably the scarf.
I like the direction my life is taking now. Despite the approaching winter, I am happy.
An old Chippewa legend speaks of a little duck called Shingebiss who is strong enough and determined enough to defy the most bitter of winters. While we are not there yet, it is coming, and these little duck heads serve as a reminder to stay strong and do what must be done. And they’re pretty cute, especially accompanied by their wise owl friends. If I had unlimited room (and funds), I would collect vintage salt and pepper shakers.
Cripple Creek, Colorado.
Quote of the day: “Almost all the time, you tell yourself you’re loving somebody when you’re just using them.” – Chuck Palahniuk
Commiserating with Kelsea about our hatred of mornings
That I woke up today
Snatches of poetry
The Mixed Emotions of a Coming Winter
I am scared.
The gray of the sky overburdens me,
Swamping me in a soft blanket
but one in which
I can’t indulge.
I muster my strength to throw off its
and push through,
giving birth to myself each morning
from another cocoon of dreams.
I am choiceless.
Now, the green grass still lies splayed
A maiden no longer,
She shows herself fully,
a last gasp before her faded beauty
dies for another season,
smothered by a soft, frozen fatal whisper.
I am coddled
by the lowing clouds
That catch me up in a drowning
Embrace of cool sadness,
Pushing on my eyelids
As the earth
Balks and wavers
And hunkers down to suffer through
A reminder that it’s not ALWAYS too hot here. On days like this, we long for summer. But on days like today, I hope this brings my fellow heat-sufferers a cooling memory.
Quote of the day: “If you shut up truth and bury it under the ground, it will but grow, and gather to itself such explosive power that the day it bursts through, it will blow up everything in its way.” – Emile Zola
The girls on the path this morning running with their ponytails swinging in sync
Red Stripe beer
That MKL is home
That at least one or two fires are contained
The End of Winter
The moon cradles its swollen belly
Hung low over the mountains.
Geese feed among the dry, dead cornstalks.
The sky holds snow
And my black pumps are not up to the task.
A robin lies dead in the middle of the road
The wind futilely tickling its redbreast feathers.
I am dressed in funereal colors.
There is so much
And yet there is nothing
This morning at the bus stop, I was bored and my toes were cold, so I amused myself by looking at the snowflakes falling on my outstretched hand. Which, incidentally, amused my fellow queuers, because they got to watch a woman smiling idiotically at her outstretched hand.
Amazing little things, snowflakes. That each one is unique boggles the imagination. Mine is boggling – is yours? Seriously, when you think about all the snowflakes EVER, how can this be possible? (Although according to our friend, Wikipedia, matching snow crystals were discovered in Wisconsin in 1988. How they found them, Wiki declines to tell us, but I know how resourceful those Wisconsinites can be. Or perhaps the fact that there’s a wonderful road house every 500 yards has something to do with this claim.) How can each snowflake form so perfectly and yet be so incredibly transient is also a boggler. And a reflection of many other facets of our existence, if one were to choose to wax philosophical.
I think I’ve seen some remarkably similar, but perhaps “they” are right. (Are “they” always scientists? Is there a building somewhere where “they” go to work every day, and then use minions to spread “their” well-researched factoids until said factoids become common knowledge?)
In 1885, Wilson Alwyn Bentley began his endless quest for two identical snowflakes. He photographed thousands of them with a microscope, and he, along with others through history classified and categorized them, and shared their wide variety with us and the rest of history.
Do you remember how old you were when you first saw snow? When someone told you no two snowflakes were alike? Do you remember trying to find two that were? Do you remember folding white paper and snipping it, then unfolding it to make your own remarkable snowflake, designed at random?
I saw one today that reminded me of a sheriff’s badge. And according to Google, the largest snowflake ever was 15 inches in diameter, and was seen in Montana in 1887. As brief a life as snowflakes have, I am amazed that anyone could capture and record it. I mean, how did whoever know it was going to fall? How did they measure it? In the air? After it fell on the snow? Ane what are the odds of capturing it? I’m sure there have been larger ones – just none that a human has ever caught.
I may be sounding quasi-eloquent on the amazingness of snowflakes, but those of you who read these pages often know that I am not a cold-weather girl, that I would sooner see sand than snow any day. But in the spirit of appreciating life as it is given, we must bloom or freeze where we are planted. For me, that’s here, now, among the snowflakes.