a bushel of gumption, an ounce of grace
The snow finally came, two delayed school openings in a row– that’s more a function of the timing than the amount, but still. Snow, finally.
The deep cold is on its way, highs this weekend forecast in the single digits. Whoa, cold. More wood on the way. Time to get some slow cooking happening….
Yesterday I posted about the early appearance of bluebirds; today winter is back, with a light snowfall that began early this afternoon and continues still.
This is the kind of snow that for some reason always reminds me of Joyce’s Dubliners “The Dead:” his line, raptly sorrowful, about snow being general over Ireland…
Here for the moment it is lovely and soft, the light of dusk and dawn especially magical with snow.
If it lasts, another snow poem sure to follow. And Mississippi roast in the wings xo
Bluebirds are among the sweetest of birds to me: their extraordinary, unusual (in these climes) color, the shape of their body, their flight movement, their song. Their reappearance in early- to mid-March signals spring, and I am always sad to see them depart, usually sometime in November….
Well, January was not the ideal month to aim for daily (ah, ok, near-daily) posts, as I had scheduled site support for the life I picked that would preclude me, for a few days here and there, from actually being on the site…small scheduling detail that I overlooked. …
In a strange weather twist, the blizzard of 2016 bypassed upstate NY completely. The winter of no snow continues, while meantime two hours south Central Park has two feet and further south D.C. is buried. Here we have crispy grass and areas where my hardworking dogs manage to make mud between their warm snouts, their desire for tunneling rodents, and the sadly naked frozen earth.
Not anxious to shovel (no garage, no snowblowers chez moi) I nonetheless miss the blanket of white that softens and brightens the world when the thermometer hovers low. And gives respite for a month or two from the mud….
January 17, as written here before, is Christmas on the Julian calendar, Old Twelfth Night. Wassailing was traditional on or around this day and still is in some parts of England….
Thinking still of magnum mysterium, and the space of not knowing….
Not quite three weeks past Christmas, we are moving into the heart of winter. The Julian calendar celebrates old Twelfth Night January 17th, and this is the traditional date for Wassailing in parts of England; maybe somehow this is where my lingering sense of Christmas originates. …
Astonishing that our first measurable snow of the winter is coming so late, today, January 12. In honor of its beauty, its stillness, its hush– is there any time more quiet than when snow is falling?– for my first daily daily grace we will go a bit long, and share one of my favorite snow poems, from both a favorite collection and a favorite poet, the great Yves Bonnefoy….
On Friday I was pulled over for doing 60 in a 40. This is part of my commute for a few months, a designated scenic two-lane road winding from southwestern Massachusetts to northwestern Connecticut….