February, blown away #phenology

Midweek last the snow-covered slope behind the house, the one whose crest runs North-South, the one on which the pear tree stands, was marked by several well-defined deer trails leading to and from the pear tree. Then, we had several days and nights of strong Southerly winds. Now, the snow covering the slope looks unviolated, scoured clean, deer trails filled in with wind-blown snow. The heavily-hoof-trampled snow along the wood's edge has also been wind-wiped clean as a new whiteboard, untouched by any dry marker. Even snowmobile tracks along the road have been mostly erased. Since, thanks to our thaw-freeze cycle, much of the snow was crusted over and the recent snowfall was pretty light, it's not clear where the loose snow came from. I don't recall ever seeing anything quite like it.

before the wind, hillside snow with tracks

Photo by J. Harrington

The local squirrels, at least the reds and grays, are now chasing each other (reds on reds and grays on grays more than mixed) and wrestling in irrational exuberance of forthcoming Spring and expanded squirrel populations. The sun has returned North to the point that it's rising at the midpoint of the East-facing window in the office. We are now less than two weeks from the start of meteorological Spring. If the weather forecast is accurate, by this time next weekend we should be in the midst of a major melt. But first, there's tonight's and tomorrow's snow plus freezing drizzle mix to enjoy, with the possibility of more snow at the beginning of the week following next.

after the wind, hillside snow without tracks

Photo by J. Harrington

With luck, and good karma, sometime soon we should start to see the return of goldfinches and the arrival of Spring migrants headed North. Personally, I'm looking forward to enjoying a couple of morning sipping coffee and watching the downspouts flow and, maybe, the gutters overflow. I've enjoyed this season long enough. I'm hoping that the next strong breeze, come March?, will help me fly my dragon kite. There was too much snow cover around here to celebrate the official National Kite-flying Day on February 8.

Agoraphobia

By Linda Pastan

"Yesterday the bird of night did sit,
Even at noon-day, upon the marketplace,
Hooting and shrieking."

—William Shakespeare

1.

Imagine waking

to a scene of snow so new   

not even memories

of other snow

can mar its silken

surface. What other innocence   

is quite like this,

and who can blame me

for refusing

to violate such whiteness

with the booted cruelty

of tracks?

2.

Though I cannot leave this house,   

I have memorized the view

from every window—

23 framed landscapes, containing   

each nuance of weather and light.   

And I know the measure

of every room, not as a prisoner   

pacing a cell

but as the embryo knows

the walls of the womb, free

to swim as its body tells it, to nudge   

the softly fleshed walls,

dreading only the moment

of contraction when it will be forced   

into the gaudy world.

3.

Sometimes I travel as far

as the last stone

of the path, but

every step,

as in the children's story,

pricks that tender place

on the bottom of the foot,

and like an ebbing tide with all

the obsession of the moon behind it,   

I am dragged back.

4.

I have noticed in windy fall

how leaves are torn from the trees,   

each leaf waving goodbye to the oak   

or the poplar that housed it;

how the moon, pinned

to the very center of the window,

is like a moth wanting only to break in.   

What I mean is this house

follows all the laws of lintel and ridgepole,   

obeys the commandments of broom   

and of needle, custom and grace.

It is not fear that holds me here but passion   

and the uncrossable moat of moonlight   

outside the bolted doors.

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