If this year is like most years, we’ll realize at some point we’re short a present for some certain someone or other, but for now, after cross-checking with the Better Half [BH], it appears we’re down to wrapping, putting under the tree and helping the elves on Christmas Eve with stocking stuffing. Yay! Oops! Almost forgot about Christmas cookies, plus I’lll be getting back into a bread baking rhythm. A levain is rising and dried cranberries are soaking. Tomorrow, with luck, sourdough will get assembled for baking late in the day or, more likely, Wednesday.
The seasonal CDs, while not as exuberant as Brenda Lee’s rockin’ ‘round the Christmas tree, provide mostly mellow sounds that fit the season well. We’ll listen to such songs as we wrap presents and the BH tends to cookies. I may even break out an original 33 1/3 rpm Elvis’ Christmas Album one of these days if I need to boost my energy level. (Told ya’ I’m that old!)
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| woodpecker at suet feeder
Photo by J. Harrington
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Mother Nature is delivering an early present, the sun trying to break through through a persistent cloud cover. Warmer temperatures are promised for later this week. December’s full moon occurs the day after Christmas, following a "better late than never" pattern set by the three wise men. Meanwhile, the marshes are frozen but we saw several flocks of airborne Canada geese earlier this week. I’ve no idea where they’re roosting. Snow covered fields are empty of sandhill cranes. We’ve seen few turkeys and no deer for a week or more. Woodpeckers and chickadees have been enjoying the suet feeder. The official start of winter is almost here and critters are acting accordingly, except, of course, for us humans, who try to largely ignore the effects of seasons.
The Sun in Bemidji, Minnesota
The sun isn’t even a pearl today—
its light diffused, strained gray
by winter haze—this the grayest
day so far, so when I enter the Wells
Fargo parking lot the last thing I expect
is to see the sun in the car next to mine.
I watch a woman make out with the sun,
and I’m jealous of the sun. Beautiful
beyond her desire—wanting the sun
so—she almost glows as she tugs
sweetness from his whiskers with
her teeth, and his drool runs down
her chin. I think the sun is a man,
but it’s hard to tell in this light. No,
it’s a mango, and I’m jealous of her.
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Please be kind to each other while you can.
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