a driveway covered in ice
Photo by J. Harrington
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The first thing we learned is that someone put away the grass seed spreader, which we were going to use to scatter sand, in such a way that the crank handle that drives the spreader didn't turn. That "tool" is now in the trash because we tried to "fix" it using brute force and broke the handle off. Only slightly deterred, but cursing loudly, we dug out the fertilizer spreader, filled its hopper with sand, and proceeded down the drive to create a sand path. That selfsame ice which prompted the urge to spread sand gave no traction to the wheels that drive the spreader full of sand. We did leave a couple of narrow streaks of sand, better than nothing, but we're back to a baseline of knowing how to handle snow and most cold, but being largely thwarted by the rain/ice pattern we're seeing more of.
with but a narrow path of sand
Photo by J. Harrington
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If putting on, and fastening, wading boots with studs or cleats on the bottom weren't so much work, we'd use this as a perfect excuse to upgrade our wading equipment but we rarely want to be out in the Winter as much time as we spend wading a stream so we won't lie to ourselves (this week). Then again, patagonia has some expensive river crampons that we could go talk to a salesperson about.
It's supposed to warm up again next weekend. That might help solve our near term problem. Plus, we need to write ourselves a note that, when we get the drive redone, it needs to be graded not only front to back, but also side to side. Then, we hope, the uphill side would be clear and dry as January thaws or March-April "normal" weather presents us with slippery slop covering most of the drive.
January
Dusk and snow this hour in argument have settled nothing. Light persists, and darkness. If a star shines now, that shine is swallowed and given back doubled, grounded bright. The timid angels flailed by passing children lift in a whitening wind toward night. What plays beyond the window plays as water might, all parts making cold digress. Beneath iced bush and eave, the small banked fires of birds at rest lend absences to seeming absence. Truth is, nothing at all is missing. Wind hisses and one shadow sways where a window’s lampglow has added something. The rest is dark and light together tolled against the boundary-riven houses. Against our lives, the stunning wholeness of the world.
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Please be kind to each other while you can.
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