Yesterday the Spring Equinox; today a Snow Day

snow falling on the view of the playground (photo)

Today is an unexpected day off for me after working more or less every day since February 26! Granted, some of those days I only worked 2-3 hours, but still, this has come at a perfect time, as one of my big project deadlines culminated in our company’s annual event yesterday.

Very nice to have a lie-in today, and I’m still in my pajamas. One of the best views of a snowstorm is the one from indoors, wearing one’s soft pants!

looking out on a snowy street through a fire escape (photo)

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Within an hour of waking, the sun has gladdened the windowpanes

ink sketch of a fence and field, trees in the distance

I stayed home last night; missed several parties, missed toasting with friends who I’ve not seen enough of. A head cold has been slinking ‘round the door for a few days (probably a few weeks), and by Midnight it’d overtaken me. I didn’t have any the past two winters, but I’ve been burning candles at both ends lately, so I can’t be too surprised or upset.

Despite feeling poorly, it’s not a bad thing to cross the threshold of a new year quietly and in solitude. I did this little drawing to mark the changing of the guard. (I added the snow on a whim, though clearly those aren’t winter trees, all clad in leaves.)

I’d hoped for a cold-bright wander on New Year’s Day, but that’ll have to wait for better health. Glad tidings, with a few sniffles! I’ll see what I can make of it. More drawing, whether for me or my freelance project, will make a fine start of things for 2018.

Our hopes such as they are, invisible before us, untouched and still possible*

black and white photograph of sun coming through tree branches

Returned from the snow farm for the last few days of the year’s closing book. Serene here, too— quiet and white-blanketed. Few people are on the sidewalks, chilled and brittle. The emptiness of the playground today: a witness to the mercury, its height diminished despite bright sun.

And here we meet our fabricated bookends for time, believing we can hold or control it; we note it and name it to preserve the illusion. All is change, even the end of things, like the dying year to be replaced or born anew this midnight. Supplanted by new hopes, optimism in the dark corner of the year. Rebirth, Springtide: a crocus fighting her way up through a crust of snow.

Her bloom and demise are written in the maths that make her. Only we personify it, make a mirror of her. We with our imagined souls are infinitely fragile. So we make of her a beacon.

We’ll wait for her in the darkness yet to come. We’ll look for her as we burn through the woodpile, stacked under the eaves last fall. And as we watch the icicles melt, painting the days toothless, mild, and green again.

black and white photograph of a farm house in a snowy fieldblack and white photograph of a barn an silo on a snowy hillblack and white photograph of a large oak branch and a silo on a hill in the distance

*from the poem ”To the New Year” by W. S. Merwin

The water pipes upstairs froze overnight

photo of the garden and field under snowIt’s double-quilt weather and icy lashes weather as the wind stings saltwater rills from our eyes. Shoulders hunched, we retreat into our hoods like sheltering caves.

Convolutions and subtext slip away like shingles from a roof during high winds. Faced with the elemental force of cold, our needs simplify. Just as hunger renders food delicious merely by filling a need, warmth does same after a spell of shivers; muscles convulsing in their toil of keeping the blood from slowing in our veins.

The simplification is good. Makes us thankful for the ease of milder days. Which at length leads to contemplation; to philosophical meanderings and resolutions. We will never take anything for granted again!

But we tend to be creatures of reaction more than of action. So, always the ebb and flow: seasons without, seasons within.

We will be relieved when the plumbing returns. In the meantime, we recognize the relative ease of most days. We hope the pipes hold and do not burst. And we wait for things to thaw, to soften even a little, in their intensity.

The crust of snow renders the clear sun blinding

Black and white photo of winter branchesThe barn cats, huddled and hungry, have not ventured forth to beg in the dooryard today. The stalwart horses, shaggy in their winter coats and snugged in blankets, have chosen to remain in the shelter of their run-in stalls— those hard-wired grazers who prefer to spend days in search of remaining blades of green beneath the snow.

Even Wolf, of Siberian ancestry —built for the inhospitable, the brittle— ventured out in the morning, but resigned to coil himself in a windless corner of the porch rather than roam the fields as he usually does..

The frost is holding fast. The cold, recently settled in, is absolute. So too the clear blue of the cloudless sky. Not a single drip today from an earlier day’s sun-melt row of icicle teeth. Not even at noon on the south-facing eaves.

It snowed just enough to blanket the farm

winter trees in a snowy field (black and white photo)

The trees and shrubs appeared to have sprouted from a vast eiderdown quilt that settled over the viewable acreage overnight.

Happy Winter Holidays and snow days for all who enjoy that sort of thing!

The car broke down on a lonely stretch of road

Sorry I missed yesterday’s post deadline. Here is one from the archives for December first. Car in Snow.

After the crash we float like ghosts

vaulted ceilingAfter the crash, we float like ghosts, moving about the old main street unnoticed and silently marveling at the high pitched roofs and tall windows of these old houses, taking in the glow of warm light of the interiors. The long incandescent puddles projecting out through the panes onto the thick blanket of silencing snow create such contrast, we half expect them to melt it. But they don’t.

We don’t feel cold but assume we must be, knowing that we can’t cross the thresholds of these sanctuaries against the night.

What Stella looked like

Brooklyn in snow
Here are some quiet scenes from my neighborhood yesterday, after the thundersnow and wind calmed. The storm never really reached any kind of pitch, but many cancellations were planned, so it was a peaceful day. I spent all but 30 minutes of it indoors; worked an 11 hour day. My wander through the snow was pretty pleasant, however brief.
Brooklyn in snow
Brooklyn in snow
Brooklyn in snow

Looking out upon falling snow in a fierce wind

snowy fire escapeLooking out upon falling snow in a fierce wind,
having read the latest news
(that has spoiled my coffee, again—)
Gone cold, with my views or once-belief
regarding some inherent goodness—

A bleak feeling that renders even this
brutal, unkind weather beautiful
Gentle, by comparison.

Each day, what counts as News
defiles sense. Escalation,
unsustainable (please)
Noah’s mythical flood
Now upon us, manmade
(Man-made, man-mad)

I feel hatred, and fear
Twin emotions, unaccustomed—
whose visages remind:
How lucky I’ve been (so far)

Each morning one awakes
with some hope,
or threads from a dream.
This morning, this blanket of new fallen snow
a metaphor:

Darkness, sold as Light.