From Beneath the Roses (SWF)

Ice melting at roof's edge

Snow—it comes and goes.
And, when you think you’ve caught that scent of spring on a passing breeze, you’re fooled.
Six weeks of winter, indeed.

Icicles, heavy on barn gutter

We wait beneath a freshly laid blanket, crisp and white.
But what the groundhog must have seen,
on that day, warm as April…
Can you imagine?

Close-ups taken beneath this Mulitflora Rose
all click to enlarge

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And in the Bower, Birds

Laid round bare shoulders, winter white,
a veil, with diamonds dripping,
she steps slowly forward.
All stand.
And in the bower, birds.

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Glass Beads (SWF)

Like a strand of glass beads, broken,
and bouncing loosely onto the roof in a million tiny pieces, the first sounds of this morning woke me with an abrupt reminder of the day’s promise—ice.
The gentle tapping at the window last evening, the fine mist I’d left falling softly in the darkness before bed, almost forgotten.
And what, in the dimness of dawn, seemed a delicate satiny glaze, with the daylight showed, in fact, a much chunkier covering. Which, with each slight sway of the tall, broad trees, repeated its shattering, as sections of the glassy layer fractured and fell in silver showers all around.


By mid-day, the freezing rain had become large flakes pouring wildly from a thick, swirling sky—
until there was no more to fall from it.
And then, in the stillness it remained,
soft and white above the night’s icing.


And I, without the demands on it of every other,
could let this day be just that.
Soft and white and still.

all photos click to enlarge

Glass Beads
Ice on Ironweed

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Footsteps

There is a thin crust of ice covering the 2 to 3 inches of day-old snow.
The birds feeding on the ground out back seem to enjoy it—hopping and sliding to a stop with each bounce, their toes splayed on the glossy surface.
Such feather-weights, leaving not a trace.


I am a different story.
Thumping along the trails, each step resounding as it breaks through the surface and drops.
It’s an unusual irony—
my noisy, plodding, hollow steps spoiling the quiet stillness,
as I trod along seeking the delicately iced remnants of the fields.
Leaving in my wake, large, irregular holes.
It seems I've taken more than pictures.

Winter wonders

The pause in spring’s progress has me caught indoors again—watching school closings and weather bulletins roll across the base of my TV screen, while newscasters film spinning cars and glazed windshields.

Of all the snowy days and wintry forecasts, those arriving after we’ve begun to taste the seasons’ turn are the hardest. We grumble about its inconvenience, insistent upon keeping up the pace of our lives. And fight against the impediment nature has thrown in our path.

As I watch through the window, I wonder about the lives I cannot see.
Tucked into dens and burrows, sheltered in nests and crevices, waiting patiently for winter’s end. And wonder if we’d be more content—had we lives like theirs.
Following nature’s lead—not fighting it.

I have a bag of Black Walnuts that I gathered in the fall.
It sits, forgotten, in the laundry room—while I scurry past with every other activity of my life.
Today, I will sit down and crack them.

It is what nature suggests would be best.

Snow Day!

The dawn is becoming day.
As I lay still in a warm bed before rising, the plow’s heavy blade announces its approach from far up the road--the first sound of life.
Blue cast outside my window.
Then, silence... all around.
Snow day!

A fine layer of ice has glazed the surface of what fell in the nighttime hours.
Little drops of iciness snick and tick against each pane of glass.
I am happy to be inside, waiting for the world to wake.



There is something special about receiving an unexpected day off.
No chores already fill the time.
No errands can be run.
It will be a day to experience a little more of the outdoors than I usually am able.
It is a gift I wait anxiously to open.

This is just how I felt as a child!

“If I had influence with the good fairy who is supposed to preside over the christening of all children,
I should ask that her gift to each child in the world be a sense of wonder
so indestructible that it would last throughout life.”
~Rachel Carson

Powerless

This afternoon the temperature reached 98 degrees.
Thankfully, it was Father's Day, a day for enjoying-- relaxing, reflecting, reminiscing. And doing very little work.


Just five months ago, our world looked like this--coated with a thick layer of ice. We were fortunate to be safe inside, but without electricity for almost 48 hours, staying warm became the activity of the day.



The wood burning stove kept one room toasty. And a pot of boiling water on top of it meant that hot chocolate would also warm us on the inside. I spent my precious daylight hours scavenging large ice boulders from the roadside, and hauling them up the hill on a sled. I had rearranged the inside of the freezer and refrigerator to accommodate their bulky mass--and hoped they'd keep the food chilled until the power was back.
Our old brick house serves us well in the trying times. Doors on every room mean that we can close off sections we're not needing, and keep our activites confined to just the main room--now the dining room, but what had originally been the kitchen. The hinge of an old swinging crane for a cast iron kettle, still visible in the large open hearth.
We lit the kerosene lamps at sunset--their bright flames, seeming so at home. And, except for the battery-powered radio, sat and waited, suspended in time.



I recall hearing a radio personality flippantly remarking with each weather update, "so they say there's global warming,...(ha,ha)" and wondering how many listening to him trusted this man's "knowledge." I felt like his captive audience, and quickly stifled his commentary.


But, I can't help but think about all this again today, as I see the "worst" drought following on the heels of the "worst" ice storm. And in the middle of it all, sitting and waiting, again, powerless.