|ice forming, early December 2015|
Photo by J. Harrington
I checked my phenology reference books, and this is the time of year when lakes should [used to] be freezing over and ice [used to] start to thicken enough for the adventurous to contemplate ice fishing and placing ice houses. Ice cover has come and gone, and will no doubt come again, on local waters. Unless your ice house has pontoon floats, plan on leaving it in the yard for awhile yet this year.
|snow cover, early December 2013|
Photo by J. Harrington
The odds are still pretty high that we'll have a white Christmas, and I'm not complaining that all this precipitation isn't snow. It is unusual to get rain at this time of year. At least it used to be. More and more we get weather I associate with Missouri. It's almost as if something's going on with the climate, like maybe it's warming? Or, perhaps it's only that we're all dumb enough to be bamboozled by the Chinese, so they can steal all our manufacturing jobs. Yeah, that must be it. If we were smart enough to listen to the climate scientists instead of the Chinese... oh, wait!
This year I'm planning on staying up late enough on Christmas Eve to catch Santa and find out what's really going on at the North Pole. Santa still lives at the North Pole, doesn't he? He wasn't hit by a ship or anything, was he?
They say it is waiting for more, the snowShrunk up to the shadow-line of wallsIn an arctic smouldering, an unclean salt,And will not go until the frost returnsSharpening the stars, and the fresh snow fallsPiling its drifts in scallops, furls. I saySnow has left its own white geometryTo measure out for the eye the wayThe land may lie where a too cursory readingDiscovers only dip and incline leadingTo incline, dip, and misses the fortuitousFull variety a hillside spreads for us:It is written here in sign and exclamation,Touched-in contour and chalk-followed fold,Lines and circles finding their completionIn figures less certain, figures that yet take holdOn features that would stay hidden but for them:Walking, we waken these at every turn,Waken ourselves, so that our walking seemsTo rouse some massive sleeper out of winter dreamsWhose stretching startles the whole land into life,As if it were us the cold, keen signs were seekingTo pleasure and remeasure, repossessWith a sense in the gathered coldness of heat and height.Well, if it's for more the snow is waitingTo claim back into disguisal overnight,As though it were promising a protectionFrom all it has transfigured, scored and bared,Now we shall know the force of what resurrectionOutwaits the simplification of the snow.
Thanks for visiting. Come again when you can.
Please be kind to each other while you can.