Saturday, December 3, 2016

Ice-up #phenology

Sunrise River, Winter pools
Sunrise River, Winter pools
Photo by J. Harrington

Small, shallow, isolated local ponds are now ice covered, but the covering isn't very thick. Sunrise River pools are still open water, although an extended period of below freezing temperatures in the forecast will change that over the next several weeks. The decline into Winter's darkness is quickening. Christmas lights make more magic.

This morning I participated in the monthly meeting of a local writers' group . Winter is traditionally story-telling time, which adds an additional layer of pleasure to writing, and talking about it, at this time of year.

Christmas tree, 2016
Christmas tree, 2016
Photo by J. Harrington

The Christmas tree is now all decorated (and I'll try for take better photos). I've noted in past postings that I miss the Autumn aroma of burning leaves. At tree-trimming time I also miss the shiny tinsel we used to place/throw on the tree when I was young. If you look carefully, you can see it's been replaced by icicles, which are pretty, but just not the same. (You can never step into the same river or celebrate the same Christmas twice?) Most of the household decorations are in place. I still need to get a poinsettia or two and find a Solstice celebration to attend, the one at ASI has some appeal. If I [we] work at it just a little harder, I [we] can probably keep this from being the year that "the Trump" stole Christmas.

Bleak Weather


By Ella Wheeler Wilcox


Dear love, where the red lillies blossomed and grew,
The white snows are falling;
And all through the wood, where I wandered with you,
The loud winds are calling;
And the robin that piped to us tune upon tune,
Neath the elm—you remember,
Over tree-top and mountain has followed the June,
And left us—December.

Has left, like a friend that is true in the sun,
And false in the shadows.
He has found new delights, in the land where he's gone,
Greener woodlands and meadows.
What care we? let him go! let the snow shroud the lea,
Let it drift on the heather!
We can sing through it all; I have you—you have me,
And we’ll laugh at the weather.

The old year may die, and a new one be born
That is bleaker and colder;
But it cannot dismay us; we dare it—we scorn,
For love makes us bolder.
Ah Robin! sing loud on the far-distant lea,
Thou friend in fair weather;
But here is a song sung, that’s fuller of glee,
By two warm hearts together.

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