One of those zone nights

I have always loved the snow. Even as a kid I prayed for snow. In some ways I still do. While I was at the computer working this morning something caught my attention out of the corner of my eye: someone skiing up the street. I snapped a picture. Haven't downloaded it yet, but snow inspires me. I sometimes long for the quiet and solitude of the cabin when the snow was piled up to the second floor and all over the deck. I would sit in the living room in the dark with the stove lit and the fire going and look out the glass doors onto the back deck. When the moon was full the light was blue and the sky so clear and dark the stars were close enough to touch.I usually had a cup of hot cider with a cinnamon stick in it or a big mug of hot Mexican chocolate in the recliner with an afghan around my legs and the only light the moon or the fire. It was quiet and wonder and peaceful and I miss it. I never felt alone. But there is comfort in the sounds that surround me here, the little domestic sounds of television and laughter and conversation floating through the door or up through the floor boards and the smells of cooking or incense from Nel's apartment or the simple clean fresh-wash smell of laundry. There are little sounds in the morning that remind me I am not alone: Nel showering in the morning with the bang click of the shower button going down, the sound of running water and Barbara sliding the doors open so Pastor can go out onto the deck. There is the scent of Barbara's strong vanilla coffee that wafts up through the open windows or into the hallway and under my door when I go into the kitchen. The baseboard heater ticks as water flows through the pipes and warms up the cold pipes and the comforting hum of my computer in the sun room with it's eerie green lights flashing and blinking in the darkness. I don't think I noticed the sounds and smells and feeling of a place quite so much when I was married or the kids were around because every morning was a controlled chaos of rushed dressing and meals and bundling up in the cold to take the kids to school or the babysitter's and for me to get to work on time. I wonder if that's what happens to people in marriages, if they are so busy and rushed they don't take the time to appreciate the small sounds and sights and smells around them that remind them there is something more than work and errands and bills and all the thousand little things they feel they must do before it's time to drop spent and worn into bed before it's time to get up and do it all over again.

Silent white

As I worked yesterday I watched the snow fall, first in a sugary sifting and then floating feathers that drifted down and clung to everything until the bare trees were dark with melting snow and the broken street, scarred pavement and barren ground was softened, glinting and sparkling in the watery sun blinking sleepily from the white sky. As the sun drowned in the white behind the mountains the sky and snow glowed with an eerie amber light that turned to gold-tinged lavender and then to a translucent blue violet that made the snow glow in the darkness. Every light was softly magnified until the world outside my windows was full of magic and inside was cozy and warm. The silence whispered and the snow muffled and softened the sharp edges of sound. It is snowing again and I welcome the snow the way the slumbering trees welcome its cold touch before it warms and trickles through the hard wrinkled bark and into the heart of the tree, leaving a dark caress behind, a trail from the cold outside world into the beating heart that fills its capillaries and veins.

The cold daylight and the wind have shaken most of the fairy magic from the soft storm but there is more to come and another magical night full of dreams and hope will rise as the sun slips beneath the horizon.

Poetry

It has been a while since I wrote or posted poetry. Today is the day.

Colors

Rosy band expanding
above deep purple points
reaching into white islands
in the sapphire sea
--Dawn.

* * *

Winter Storm

Blank canvas sky
goose down and sugar slanting,
blowing,
flying,
floating
down
frosting everything in sight.

* * *

And a blast from the past in honor of the season.

Mythos

Midwinter cave
where night rules the day
God born of virgin,
the promise of prosperity and light.

Earth turn 'round
and day moves over night.
The first balance struck,
the god grows stronger.

In fertile fields,
the seed is planted
in the Mother's womb,
nurtured beneath the warming sun.

Mid year, first harvest,
day rules the night.
The god in his glory,
strengthens the fecund ground.

Celebrate the lord of earth,
keeper of the forest,
who, with the Mother,
keeps the promise of the light.

Earth turn 'round,
day balances night.
Final harvest draws near,
year cycle ends as destiny rises.

Hail the sacrifice of blood,
payment for a fruitful year.
The bull is slain;
the god lies still.

Midwinter feast
in the darkness of night.
Harvest the seed planted
three quarters before.

The god reborn.



That is all. Disperse.