Beginning to look a lot like...

this morning’s view from the deck

Photo by J. Harrington

Yesterday the deciduous trees were mostly bare branches. No so this morning! We got “flurries” overnight. Everything is covered with an inch or so of fresh snow. A new neighbor stopped by with his bobcat, asking if we wanted the driveway plowed. I said “No, thanks.”

We’re due for a warm spell [mid to upper 40’s] for a few days this week. We’ll let the snow melt. We are being teased about the prospects for a white Christmas, first snow and then thaw and then snow again and then.... Stay tuned.

Before the surprise snow flurries, I ordered some [more] Christmas music, including an album of carols by shape note singers, which I believe will be a new experience for me. The tree is all decorated thanks to the Better Half. If the fireplace were working [broken flue damper], it would be time for chestnuts roasting. A local florist is trying to get some holly for us, noting it’s hard to get. On the other hand, holly is becoming an invasive species in the Northwest.

Tomorrow is for helping the Daughter Person celebrate her birthday followed by a search for some fly-fishing related stocking stuffers. Just because I don’t look like one of Santa’s elves doesn’t mean I can’t help do the job.

Snowy Night

by Mary Oliver

Last night, an owl
in the blue dark
tossed
an indeterminate number
of carefully shaped sounds into
the world, in which, 
a quarter of a mile away, I happened
to be standing.
I couldn’t tell
which one it was –
the barred or the great-horned
ship of the air –
it was that distant. But, anyway, 
aren’t there moments
that are better than knowing something, 
and sweeter? Snow was falling, 
so much like stars
filling the dark trees
that one could easily imagine
its reason for being was nothing more
than prettiness. I suppose
if this were someone else’s story
they would have insisted on knowing
whatever is knowable – would have hurried
over the fields
to name it – the owl, I mean.
But it’s mine, this poem of the night, 
and I just stood there, listening and holding out
my hands to the soft glitter
falling through the air. I love this world, 
but not for its answers.
And I wish good luck to the owl, 
whatever its name –
and I wish great welcome to the snow, 
whatever its severe and comfortless
and beautiful meaning. 

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