Slapstick slippery weather

Today’s weather makes me think of James Cagney in the role of a prisoner who claims “I can’t take any more, I’m bustin’ outta this joint!” Dreary, gray, drippy, icy, foggy conditions day after day, but it’s not bitterly cold. My mother used to warn me to be careful what I wish for because I might get it. If  I get much more disgruntled, I’lll be in a perfect mood to start organizing the receipts etc. for filing our income taxes.

The icy precipitation and our recent freeze / thaw cycle has put a nice crust on the snow, making it easy for red squirrels to scamper and bounce through the woods in front of the house. That reminds me a little of watching some of the old slapstick movies starring folks like Chaplin and Lloyd. [Is my age showing? They were before my time but I know of them.]

The cycle has also grown rows of dragons teeth along the roofline on the north side of the house and over the front door and stoop. The latter is a source of concern. We sanded and scraped a little today but need a solid thaw to eliminate the snow load source. The weekend looks promising that way.

artisan sourdough with Celtic sea salt

Photo by J. Harrington

Sourdough starter has been fed. It will need another couple of daily feedings to be really perky. I’m still floundering on the timing of when we will finish eating a loaf versus when the starter will be ready. I need to move Sourdough by Science back nearer the top of the reading stack, takes notes as I read, and slide some of the poetry books to the side, even though “man does not live by bread alone.” Since I like Celtic sea salt on the crust and the Better Half prefers her crust plain, the bread has what look like strange growths on one side only.

A Hillside Thaw

By Robert Frost

To think to know the country and now know
The hillside on the day the sun lets go
Ten million silver lizards out of snow!
As often as I’ve seen it done before
I can’t pretend to tell the way it’s done.
It looks as if some magic of the sun
Lifted the rug that bred them on the floor
And the light breaking on them made them run.
But if I though to stop the wet stampede,
And caught one silver lizard by the tail,
And put my foot on one without avail,
And threw myself wet-elbowed and wet-kneed
In front of twenty others’ wriggling speed,- 
In the confusion of them all aglitter,
And birds that joined in the excited fun
By doubling and redoubling song and twitter,
I have no doubt I’d end by holding none.

It takes the moon for this. The sun’s a wizard
By all I tell; but so’s the moon a witch.
From the high west she makes a gentle cast
And suddenly, without a jerk or twitch,
She has her speel on every single lizard.
I fancied when I looked at six o’clock
The swarm still ran and scuttled just as fast.
The moon was waiting for her chill effect.
I looked at nine: the swarm was turned to rock
In every lifelike posture of the swarm,
Transfixed on mountain slopes almost erect.
Across each other and side by side they lay.
The spell that so could hold them as they were
Was wrought through trees without a breath of storm
To make a leaf, if there had been one, stir.
One lizard at the end of every ray.
The thought of my attempting such a stray!

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