Swan, no song

We walked the dogs a little later than usual today. Our adult children are Harry Potter fans so we all went to see "Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them." We can't honestly recommend it but neither was it a disaster. If and when there's another like it, we'll check the reviews more carefully before deciding.

Back to the dog walking: it was a blue-sky, sunny afternoon, with a half moon floating up there somewhere. We got to watch a single swan, fairly high up, fly past toward the Southeast, looking as if s/he wanted to find open water. That's a challenge these days. A long, white neck leading a white body propelled by large white wings, with the sun shining on all that whiteness, was a gorgeous sight.

Bone Lake, single swan on the snow

Photo by J. Harrington

Why it was only a single swan, we can't begin to guess. There was a single swan two years ago come December perched on the snow covering Bone Lake. We thought that one might have needed rehabilitation but s/he was gone (without leaving blood on the snow) the next day when we drove past again. Perhaps today's and the one from 2016 were part of the flock that over-Winters on the St. Croix done at Hudson.

Seeing that swan today promptly put us in mind of the poem below. We suspect many of you learned it in grammar school, as we did. We continue to enjoy it from time to time.

To a Waterfowl

By William Cullen Bryant

Whither, 'midst falling dew, 

While glow the heavens with the last steps of day, 

Far, through their rosy depths, dost thou pursue 

Thy solitary way? 

Vainly the fowler’s eye 

Might mark thy distant flight, to do thee wrong, 

As, darkly seen against the crimson sky, 

Thy figure floats along. 

Seek’st thou the plashy brink 

Of weedy lake, or marge of river wide, 

Or where the rocking billows rise and sink 

On the chaféd ocean side? 

There is a Power, whose care 

Teaches thy way along that pathless coast,— 

The desert and illimitable air 

Lone wandering, but not lost. 

All day thy wings have fanned, 

At that far height, the cold thin atmosphere; 

Yet stoop not, weary, to the welcome land, 

Though the dark night is near. 

And soon that toil shall end, 

Soon shalt thou find a summer home, and rest, 

And scream among thy fellows; reeds shall bend, 

Soon, o’er thy sheltered nest. 

Thou’rt gone, the abyss of heaven 

Hath swallowed up thy form, yet, on my heart 

Deeply hath sunk the lesson thou hast given, 

And shall not soon depart. 

He, who, from zone to zone, 

Guides through the boundless sky thy certain flight, 

In the long way that I must trace alone, 

Will lead my steps aright.

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Please be kind to each other while you can.

The more things change...

We remember, vaguely, when we were young and first married, the holiday hassle of deciding whose family got visited when for Thanksgiving and Christmas. Later, when we were the family of origin for our children, Thanksgiving and Christmas were celebrated at "our" house. Next week's Thanksgiving is to be convened at the Daughter Person and Son-In-Law's new home. Somehow, we don't think that going to their place will bring us back to the feeling of being young and newly married, but we may be misjudging.

neither domestic nor heritage, but wild

Photo by J. Harrington

The Better Half has promised to cook our own much smaller turkey and fixin's so we'll have the good smells and the pleasures of leftovers after Thanksgiving. Then, on Thanksgiving Friday, we'll be in Taylors Falls for the Lighting Festival parade. See what we meant yesterday when we mentioned in our posting a reference to all the excitement at holidays' time?

Taylors Falls Lighting Celebration decorations

Photo by J. Harrington

Other events also come about this time each year. We have to haul the snow blower out, see if it starts, or, most likely, haul it off to our local small engine tune up shop for some TLC. Each and every Spring we're never sure when it's safe to turn off the gas line valve and run the engine dry. That's what comes from living somewhere that it can snow eleven months a year. We are grateful for the changing seasons and the beautiful country we live in despite a dreaded possibility of snow almost anytime.

we hope we'll be watched over by a Christmas angel

This Christmas we'll be back to being empty nesters. We haven't yet discussed with the Better Half the prospect of getting a Christmas tree that doesn't require a crane to put up in the living room. Over the years we've accumulated enough keepsake ornaments that we keep needing a bigger tree to hold them all. The Daughter Person is supposed to be inheriting some of the keepsakes so we may survive putting up our tree without crippling or maiming ourselves. And this year although we won't be limited to, we will be able to enjoy with the Better Half, a

Thanksgiving for Two

By Marjorie Saiser

The adults we call our children will not be arriving 

with their children in tow for Thanksgiving. 

We must make our feast ourselves, 

slice our half-ham, indulge, fill our plates, 

potatoes and green beans 

carried to our table near the window.

We are the feast, plenty of years, 

arguments. I’m thinking the whole bundle of it 

rolls out like a white tablecloth. We wanted 

to be good company for one another. 

Little did we know that first picnic 

how this would go. Your hair was thick, 

mine long and easy; we climbed a bluff 

to look over a storybook plain. We chose 

our spot as high as we could, to see

the river and the checkerboard fields. 

What we didn’t see was this day, in 

our pajamas if we want to, 

wrinkled hands strong, wine

in juice glasses, toasting 

whatever’s next, 

the decades of side-by-side, 

our great good luck.

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