Wordless Wednesday ~ Weak Winter Sun
Category Archives: Winter
More snow
My friend, Vanilla, posted pictures on his blog yesterday from the blizzard of 1978. I remember that storm well. We were living in Portland, Michigan and were snowed it for three days. I know I have pictures somewhere from that storm. I spent several hours looking for them, but was unable to locate them. Even Sylvia was not able to find them.
All I could find was a couple of pictures from 1967. We were living in a rental house on the north side of Lansing, Michigan — not far from the Michigan School for the Blind. Sylvia was teaching there at the time.
Our older son was four-years-old, and would start kindergarten later that year. We had just bought and old farm house — our first home. We had planned to move on a Saturday. I had loaded the trunk of our 1959 Chevrolet with books. There must have been 300 pounds of them.
On Firday afternoon, the snow began to fall. I was working for IBM at the time and was called in to assist on a service call around mid-afternoon. The problem was a particular difficult one and it was after 5 PM when I started for home. Once I got back to the city, the road dipped down to cross the Grand River. It then when up a hill for a couple of blocks.
The snow was falling fast and there were probably four inches or so of fresh snow everywhere. The road had not been plowed. My old Chev was doing just fine with all that ballast in the trunk. Then I saw that after the first cross street the road was plugged with cars that were not able to negotiate the hill.
I turned onto that first side road and made my way home on those neighborhood streets. I had to break open new tracks, but the car got through and I made it home to my wife and son.
The next morning, Saturday, we woke to realize that we snowed in. The snow drifts were chest high. It was a couple of days before we were able to make it out of the neighborhood.
We were going to move that weekend. We had to postpone for a week. Fortunately, I was able to navigate the rental truck the next weekend through another four inches of fresh snow. Perhaps that’s a story for another day.
The Other Side of Snow
Yesterday, I shared a poem that told of the romance of a snow day. There is the other side.
It starts by getting all layered up with warm clothes.
Then you go out in it. Soon the glasses darken, but it is nice and quiet as you work by hand with the shovel.
Over my left shoulder is the office where I’m sitting now as I write this. All too soon, I’m ready to go to the barn, start the tractor and start moving snow in a hurry. It is more efficient. I only wish it was as quiet and peaceful, but my back doesn’t mind at all.
Winter Has Arrived
Yesterday, Monday 12/21, marked the winter solstice and the start of winter.
Winter
First day of winter,
Weak sun does not overcome,
The cold icy wind.
Winter Morning
Winter Morning
Crunch of boot on Snow,
Clearly heard in Morning Air,
Where my breath turns white.
Orion Stalks the Night
The constellation of Orion (aka The Hunter).
Orion
As the day shortens,
The hunter stalks each long cold night.
Winter comes this way.
Wordless Wednesday ~ Remembering Winter
Last Day of Winter
My neighbor’s fish pond sans geese. The corn field is in the upper left.
It is March 19, 2009, sunny morning. After I wake and dress, I charge the coffee pot. Then I don coat, cap and gloves. As I go out to feed the cats, I see Pepe on the driveway. Chubby is exploring around the barn, but bounces over to greet me with a loud “Meooow.” I rub her head and she purrs loudly. Then off to the barn for kitty breakfast.
Later as I leave the barn, I’m aware of the frosty air against my face. From across the road I hear the raucous sound of a gaggle of Canada geese that have spent the night along the small stream. Silently two Canada geese glide across the nearest neighbor’s fish pond. If they are looking forward to fish for breakfast, they will be disappointed. The fish died this winter. Lack of sunlight getting into the water caused oxygen producing plants to perish.
About a tenth of a mile away, past the pond, I see a large black spot racing through the corn stubble. What can it be? A dog? It’s big enough to be a coyote. No, dogs don’t move that way. It is, in fact, a large tom turkey running across a mostly open field. He is seeking shelter now that the sun is up. He nears the barn and assumes a more dignified gait now that he is no longer in the open.
A variety of bird calls fill the air. Spring is nearly here.
I enter the house, hang up my coat and go to the kitchen sink to put away the water jar. As I look out the window, two mourning doves fly to and land in the ash trees. The trill of a red-winged black bird wafts on the air.
It’s the final day of winter. It’s good to see it go this way.
Winter Wind ~ and, etc.
I felt the winter wind today,
It chilled me with its icy blast.
I do not know from whence it came,
Nor why it went by rushing fast. Perhaps the wind is like the train,
I saw when I was but a lad.
It made its rounds upon the track,
The sound of whistle made me glad.
It chilled me with its icy blast.
I do not know from whence it came,
Nor why it went by rushing fast. Perhaps the wind is like the train,
I saw when I was but a lad.
It made its rounds upon the track,
The sound of whistle made me glad.
Or could the wind be like a bird,
That takes to wing and flies so free.
And seeks its food and for its young,
In summer nest, in winter flee.
I felt the winter wind today,
It chilled me with its icy blast.
I could not see from whence it came,
Nor where it went as it rushed past.
Follow up:
Sunday at mid-day, an icy north wind was blowing snow. Very unpleasant! The good news is that weather forecasters say the last half of this week will bring us milder weather.
South of the Border:
Saturday evening, Sylvia called from Honduras. The team arrived safely and on time. Her first observation was, “It’s hot!” The team is making progress at the construction site and will have additional help from Honduran volunteers. She thanks you for your prayers.
Frosty, Foggy February Morning
Morning. I awake in my la-z-boy chair. (As usual, I’d spent the last third of the night there.) Slowly I squint with one eye — just enough to see the digital clock. Isn’t the world usually brighter by now? I open the eye. And then the other. There is a strangely soft light this morning. I look out the window.
Like a bride at her wedding, this morning is garbed in white. A dress of new snow covers the ground, A gauzy veil of white fog hides the glow on the face of the newly risen sun and white fluffy clouds decorate the western sky.
Moments later, I exit the garage with food and water for the cats. (Critters eat first.) Corporal runs to greet me. Careful how I step. (There is ice on the driveway beneath a thin sheet of snow.) Corporal rubs against my leg. I bend and give her some skritches behind her ears. She loves that and tells me so with a contented purr. Soon all the cats are fed and petted. Except Pepe who keeps his distance.
I walk around the house to the nearly empty bird feeder. The newly fallen snow crunches beneath my boots. It’s a pleasing sound.
Diamonds of rime encrust the branches of the crab apple trees reflecting and refracting the rays of the early sun and adding glints of luster to the scene. Sparkling diamonds everywhere.
High, very high, in the deep blue of the eastern sky a jumbo jet races westward. It is the tip of a white-shafted spear. As it passes directly overhead and continues, in the morning stillness I hear the first sound of its approach.
The jet-tipped silver spear races on, westward until it plunges deep into the heart of a cloud bank. It leaves behind only the slowly dissipating evidence of its passing.
Awareness returns. How long have I stood here?
Hey, I’m hungry! Let’s go eat.