With a twinkle and a drip

Sun! 

Yesterday was so cold and misty it was almost possible to watch the ice form on the bare tree branches in view of the house.  From pine trees in the woods to the nandinas on either side of the front door, most plants and trees are bent under the ice's weight.  But, when I went to bed last night, the moon was a dark orange, glowing smile hovering just above the trees on the far side of the pond, casting long, deep shadows across the landscape, leading right up to the bedroom windows.  Eerie and spellbinding.  I had stepped out onto the front steps earlier during the evening to whistle up Whitby and was greeted not only by four little wet feet in need of a towel, but by a canopy of bright, twinkling stars behind scattered, fast-moving clouds.  I knew today would be bright.

Today's major activity was traversing our newly passable driveway.  The Bi-Lo on a Wednesday (aka old person day) was simply irresistible.  Although I'm not one who minds being couped up, it was rather nice to be out and about and sociable -- even if it is the grocery store -- after several days at home and inside mostly.

By late in the day the view was still primarily white.  But, I had the sensation that the world had begun melting and dripping away.  We explored the yard, the four of us -- Tal and I entertained by Whitby and Belle's experience at skating on the back yard's slick icy-snow slope toward the pond.  Eight little feet scrambling for traction.  360s followed by a silly, bewildered, dizzied expression at the end.  I shouldn't laugh.  Could have happened to us with not-so-amusing results.

A quiet and wonderful, twinkly, drippy day.

More and more I and the camera are attracted to patterns.  These are shadows across our front yard in the early afternoon.  Sadly, the angle of the sun and the lasting-power of the ice-encrusted snow didn't come together ideally.  Tiny points of brown grass were beginning to show through already.

  

Tracks in the snow

The day began early, and sweetly. I was up early with a hankering for a piece of music I couldn't quite place. But, I found it among the Christmas CDs: Loreena McKennitt's To Drive the Cold Winter Away. I dozed in a chair as the day's light rose, watching some of sung words actually happen. Just outside the windows across the back of the house, indeed, "The naked trees loom spectrally/Into the dim white sky."

I'm going to keep this post short. Today was a better than yesterday, whatever that means. Not as heavy-hearted. More philosophical about the brittle drear brought on by the wintry weather.

Tal and I ventured out into the crunchy snow during the middle of the afternoon to explore a bit, to shovel the ice off the sidewalk outside the garage door, to see if the mail and/or the newspaper had been delivered (yes, the to paper, no, to the mail).

Before going back in the house to warm up I had a wonderful, even reassuring, encounter that soothed my spirits, finishing what Loreena McKennitt's voice had started hours before. My joy at that sight shifted my perspective in a most welcome way.

My favorite bird has passed this way:
great blue heron tracks in the snow alongside the pond.



Snow day

It wasn't the greatest of snow days.  The two snows of 2010 -- Valentine's Day and the day after Christmas, just two weeks ago, were infinitely better.  Although we woke to about four inches with even the concrete sidewalks and driveway completely covered, the actual snowfall didn't last the morning.  It was followed by hours of a dreary freezing mist interspersed with considerably harder sleet and some freezing rain.  It wasn't a snow day that invited play outside. 

On the plus side I prepared a hot breakfast for Tal -- biscuits, grits (made with chicken stock), left over ham on the griddle, scrambled eggs and strawberry preserves.  The dear man was shocked and obviously delighted.  I took his compliment that it was better than Huddle House in the spirit in which he meant it.  But, the Huddle House ... I can walk away from the table with a cheery thank you. Some other lucky person gets to deal with the dishes and the grits pot.

My assessment of the day has not too very much to do with the weather.  I had spent some time over the weekend thinking about the shooting in Tucson on Saturday, realizing that we are teetering not too far from a real free for all.  It didn't help that Tal and I watched "El Dorado" (the 1966 film starring John Wayne and Robert Mitchum among other notables) one cold afternoon recently.  The wild west seems more and more a reality around the globe.  Will some sort of a demilitarized zone for the conduct of respectful public discourse become a necessity?

A thin covering of ice on
the dogwood at the driveway

More personally, as I clicked through Facebook last night I began seeing photos of and messages about a  friend from the Kanuga Photography Retreat I've attended several times in the past few years.  Elizabeth, only 36 years old, had been in a battle -- a winning battle we all thought -- with cancer.  She died last Thursday, on the feast of the Epiphany.  In one of her last postings on Facebook she'd been arranging for rides since her treatments were taking a lot out of her.  Her brother, letting her Facebook friends know she'd died, announced that she'd no longer need rides, she'd caught the Glory Train.  I lost completely any sense of time, sitting stock still in Tal's big  blue chair, surprised, stunned and sorrowful. 

So, in a whole variety of ways, today was grey.  Neither of the events on my mind were the least bit necessary; neither of them is explicable.  And, no one can change what happened in either case.  I hate to say it, now that I've given this snow day an unfavorable rating, but I'm kind of glad for today's lack of pizazz.  Sometimes I need to dwell with and in confusion, sadness, misery before I can know what to do next.

Do I know?  The what next? 

I can mind my mouth and my attitude, taking more care that I contribute to the hopeful, that in everything I say -- and do -- I build up rather than tear down.  There's discord enough without my adding to the broadcast of sarcasm and suspicion. 

And, I can treasure the relationships I have, knowing they are, all of them, unique and temporary.

For now, that's enough.

A wild ride

After our enthralling time at Bryce Canyon this morning and a lunch back at Ruby's, we set out along Utah's Scenic Byway 12 for our night's lodging in Torrey. I scarcely know where to begin. There were two stops, one at the visitor center for the Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument and another at the Anasazi State Park museum. Add to that austere, long-view scenery, weather determined to get our attention, a thrilling stretch of road called The Hogback on Boulder Mountain (think tight-wire and a 25-ton bus), a one-man cattle drive and we had ourselves a full and interesting afternoon.

This trip so far seems to be alot about the weather. St George normally gets on average 8.5 inches of rain each year. While we were in town, at least half that fell. Most visitors don't get to see waterfalls in Zion or fog at Bryce. So, as we set out for Torrey and Tal and I noticed that the sky was dark behind us, we were determined to make the best of it. "No problem," we murmurred to ourselves. "We've passed all that."

And, indeed, the threatening clouds did stay behind us -- through our stop at Grand Staircase, through the slickrock canyons beyond and well into our time at Anasazi State Park -- for several hours.

This is a view, taken from the bus, of the terrain east of the visitor center at the Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument. Bleak, but compelling, as well.

An arty shot of the roofline over the entrance to the museum at Anasazi State Park. The Anasazi people are thought to have lived on the site from 1050 to 1200CE.

As our time in the museum and on the grounds grew short we began hearing thunder and realized that those dark clouds had flanked us, doing an end run around the mountain. The storm was fast and strong -- lightening and thunder, spitting rain and hail. That didn't keep me from enjoying the scenery, though. The aspens on Boulder Mountain were beginning their glorious autumn transformation (see below). I am pleased that the rain hadn't streaked the windows until I made that shot. The Henry Mountains are in the distance -- another example of laccolith.


While we were not a particularly boisterous group, a reverent hush fell over the coach as the drive continued. In the photograph to the right, taken the length of the coach's aisle, that's snow on the road, and a slushy ice was sticking to the windshield, building up on the wipers.*

Then, Geri braked rather forcefully. A car stopped in the road ... waiting for a big, black cow to move. Once we were underway again, we were amazed to see cows all along the side of the road. Then, there appeared a man, wearing a bright yellow slicker, on horseback driving a herd of cows toward us just off the pavement. As we passed by him it felt as though I could reach out and and touch that slicker, the man's head just above the bottom of the windows. Free range, I suppose.

Not long after we were off the mountain and gladly driving the main (and only?) street of Torrey, the excitement over for the day, our hotel a welcome sight.

We had a wonderful dinner in the restaurant at the nearby Sandstone Inn (not where we were staying), made even more wonderful by what I beheld as I stepped off the coach. Needless to say, I was not the first one to be seated inside. I hope this means the worst of the challenging weather is behind us.


*The coach does carry chains and Geri said later that had she not known we were almost off the mountain when the snow started, that is, had we been farther back, she would have stopped and put them on the tires. Now, that would have too much for one day.