pensive, pending snow’s fall

We would be very remiss if we did not note that poet Emily Dickinson was born on this day in 1830. We confess that we are but passingly familiar with her story and poetry, a shortcoming we will overcome before year’s end.

what will our brooding sky hatch?

Photo by J. Harrington

It remains to be seen which, if any, of the snow amount forecasts will win the forecasting pool. At the moment, it appears that late afternoon -- early evening will see the beginning of the storm in our area. So, we’ll have to wait until tomorrow morning to assess the snowfall amount. That almost tempts me to declare “Snow surprise to me,” but I wouldn’t be that much of a flake.

The combination of persistent cloudy, dreary weather compounded by the threat of “plowable” snow, maybe, or not, has turned into a bummer. No afternoon sunshine respite today we fear. As an alternative, we’ll spend much of the afternoon at the stove cooking our famous Italian sausages with peppers and onions for tonight’s dinner. For some reason, the old saying about “idle hands or mind being the devil’s workshop” seems pertinent. These are not good times to sit and stew but deciding what’s worth doing is also a challenge. Since we all need to eat (except those on a hunger strike), cooking dinner seems like a good and safe place to start.

Snow flakes. (45)

BY EMILY DICKINSON

I counted till they danced so

Their slippers leaped the town –

And then I took a pencil

To note the rebels down –

And then they grew so jolly

I did resign the prig –

And ten of my once stately toes

Are marshalled for a jig!

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