male cardinal awaiting turn at feeder
Photo by J. Harrington
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Tuesday we'll do our last Community Supported Agriculture [CSA] pick-up for the year. We hope we get to complete our trip before the forecast snowstorm hits. Many of the roads we've been driving for the past few days are covered with compacted snow, ok but not great, interspersed with streaks of ice, instant, hopefully brief, traction loss. More snow on top of that isn't going to make longer drives any more enjoyable, although we've found that the gravel/dirt roads are less treacherous than those with blacktop. Most folks who drive gravel roads also have enough sense to slow down, unlike too many drivers on county and state highways.
Are you ready to start a new year? In most ways we're glad to put 2020 behind us, but we're even less certain of what may lie ahead than we are many years. We can't afford to accept a return to the "good old days" of 2008 -- 2016 because most of the crises we're facing: climate weirding; adaptation; sixth extinction; COVID-19 and its successors; and, at a minimum, unsustainably increasing inequality, haven not been addressed sufficiently to leave us much time to respond with gradual, coordinated transitions. "Continuing resolutions," or their equivalent, aren't going to yield the results we need. It's not yet clear that enough folks recognize the significance of both the constellation of issues and the brevity of the lead time to address them. A worthwhile resolution for the new year would be to study the effectiveness of solutions we're busy implementing rather than doing more studies before we implement anything.
Year’s End
Now winter downs the dying of the year,And night is all a settlement of snow;From the soft street the rooms of houses showA gathered light, a shapen atmosphere,Like frozen-over lakes whose ice is thinAnd still allows some stirring down within.I’ve known the wind by water banks to shakeThe late leaves down, which frozen where they fellAnd held in ice as dancers in a spellFluttered all winter long into a lake;Graved on the dark in gestures of descent,They seemed their own most perfect monument.There was perfection in the death of fernsWhich laid their fragile cheeks against the stoneA million years. Great mammoths overthrownComposedly have made their long sojourns,Like palaces of patience, in the grayAnd changeless lands of ice. And at PompeiiThe little dog lay curled and did not riseBut slept the deeper as the ashes roseAnd found the people incomplete, and frozeThe random hands, the loose unready eyesOf men expecting yet another sunTo do the shapely thing they had not done.These sudden ends of time must give us pause.We fray into the future, rarely wroughtSave in the tapestries of afterthought.More time, more time. Barrages of applauseCome muffled from a buried radio.The New-year bells are wrangling with the snow.
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Thanks for visiting. Come again when you can.
Please be kind to each other while you can.
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