Blowing smoke about blowing snow

Snowblower’s gassed, oiled and ready to go. Several years ago I bought a new Husqvarna. I can’t recommend them but haven’t carefully checked alternatives. Oil changes are difficult to almost impossible; the heated handle has never really worked; the dip stick is located right under the exhaust discharge, and the manual scatters the info needed to do an oil change over three widely separated pages. 

October 20, 3 years ago

Photo by J. Harrington

Will being ready for snow buy an extended, snow-free autumn? We’ll see. The snow flakes that were in the extended weather forecast have disappeared. so that’s a good sign. It looks as though this weekend will bring peak leaf color to our neighborhood. Local woods are looking gorgeous. Not everything is a royal pain and at least we don’t live in the Middle East or Jim Jordan’s gerrymandered district.

As I write this, I’m nursing several new holes in my hide. A “check up” trip to the doctor’s this morning ended up with a couple of blood draws and a COVID booster. That’s the end of this seasons shots: Flu, RSV, and today’s. I suppose the progress is that there are vaccines, not that three classes of diseases have become annual threats for some of US.

Reviewing the front pages of international newspapers, it appears the only thing missing is an alien attack from space. Stay tuned. Slashdot notes an increase in UFO reports. The chaos in the Republican caucus in the House is pathetic and an indication of serious stumbling blocks obstructing eventual funding of the federal government. Plus, farmers are in a world of growing hurt without reauthorization of a farm bill. Meanwhile, retailers continue to prematurely install Christmas decoration exhibits. If I were a Christian fundamentalist, I could well believe these are signs of End Times. Since I’m a student Druid Bard, I’m going to study storytelling, poetry and the like and offer prayers and spells for better days.

Peace Walk

By William E. Stafford

We wondered what our walk should mean,

taking that un-march quietly;

the sun stared at our signs— “Thou shalt not kill.”

Men by a tavern said, “Those foreigners . . .”

to a woman with a fur, who turned away—

like an elevator going down, their look at us.

Along a curb, their signs lined across,

a picket line stopped and stared

the whole width of the street, at ours: “Unfair.”

Above our heads the sound truck blared—

by the park, under the autumn trees—

it said that love could fill the atmosphere:

Occur, slow the other fallout, unseen,

on islands everywhere—fallout, falling

unheard. We held our poster up to shade our eyes.

At the end we just walked away;

no one was there to tell us where to leave the signs.

********************************************
Thanks for visiting. Come again when you can.
Please be kind to each other while you can.