Winter's cold, cold heart

I'm sitting in a comfortable recliner with my laptop in my lap, staring out the window at a clear, blue sky and looking forward to the January thaw that's supposed to start day after tomorrow. This morning's dog walk took place at 20 below. It was a brief walk. When we came inside, the coffee was perked. The aroma of hot coffee on a cold, cold morning is special. I hate watery coffee, but beyond that I'm more of a gourmand than a gourmet.

sun column at Spring sunset (2013)

Photo by J. Harrington

So far this Winter I haven't noticed or heard of a local outbreak of aurora borealis and it's been so cloudy so much of the time that there's been no sign of sun dogs or sun columns. Of course, we're still about two months from Spring equinox, so there's plenty of time, but doesn't it sound good just to say "Spring?" Never mind, I have to work on being mindful in the present, even if the present is a very, very cold Now in January. The moon today and tonight is in its last quarter. A week from now we'll have a new moon. To be honest, neither SiSi nor I pay much attention to the moon when it's as cold as it's been. The upcoming thaw will give us more of an opportunity to sky-stare, if the clouds permit, and, if so, perhaps to nod in the sun.

Futility

By Wilfred Owen 

Move him into the sun—

Gently its touch awoke him once,

At home, whispering of fields half-sown.

Always it woke him, even in France,

Until this morning and this snow.

If anything might rouse him now

The kind old sun will know.

Think how it wakes the seeds—

Woke once the clays of a cold star.

Are limbs, so dear-achieved, are sides

Full-nerved, still warm, too hard to stir?

Was it for this the clay grew tall?

—O what made fatuous sunbeams toil

To break earth's sleep at all?

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