A December thaw is coming

This morning I was feeling a little guilty as I pulled out of the driveway that hadn’t been cleared of the inch plus of snow that fell yesterday morning. Driving toward my reading date with the Granddaughter, I noticed lots of other folks hadn’t cleared their drives either. Much of the township gravel road sections I traveled still had lots of fresh snow cover. My guilt trip became guiltless. The reading went well too, mostly, I suspect, because the Better Half was feeding the Granddaughter a lunch of peanut butter sandwich pieces as I read. It’s hard to complain when your mouth is full of peanut butter.

Yule Tomte and the Little Rabbits

I did not have a mouth full of peanut butter when I stepped outside this morning. It was considerably colder than I was expecting and I complained loudly. The air turned blue, or, maybe, blew? I wish someone would cut a trade deal with Canada so they’d keep their damn arctic outbreaks. The dogs were concerned they had done  something wrong and I was yelling at them. Since they hadn’t and I wasn’t, I, as they say, “put a cork in it” and quieted down. The dogs then hustled back into the house because their paws were very  cold.

This afternoon is much more tolerable. Last night’s moon was bright and beautiful and, cloud cover permitting, should be so again tonight. My Minnesota Weatherguide Calendar notes that the Ojibwe call December’s full moon Small Spirit while the Lakota refer to it as Shedding Horns. This year Santa will be traveling the night after the new moon so it may be hard to see him unless Rudolph’s nose is glowing.

With improved weather  for the next week or so, I may actually get out and look around instead of hunkering inside and complaining. Meanwhile, I’m envious of my old home town, Boston, where it’s been sunny and the temperatures have been in the upper 40s and low 50s.

Spellbound

Emily Brontë

The night is darkening round me,

The wild winds coldly blow;

But a tyrant spell has bound me

And I cannot, cannot go.

The giant trees are bending

Their bare boughs weighed with snow.

And the storm is fast descending,

And yet I cannot go.

Clouds beyond clouds above me,

Wastes beyond wastes below;

But nothing drear can move me;

I will not, cannot go.

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