there’s always next year

At the end of my rope – 2007, and at the edge of the unknown – 2008. I’m leaving a lot of loose ends behind this year and next year feels more unknown than usual.

I eat well today:

Oatmeal for breakfast, cooked in a pot, with a little brown sugar and cinnamon.

Then dinner of spinach salad with strawberries and blueberries, a French leek pie, and a delicate sauvignon blanc – and even some baclava for my sweet tooth.

But it’s not enough. I blow it in the evening with potato chips and dip.

There’s always next year.

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Driving home after Vespers today I think back a couple of hours to before I left home, and the coffee drink I enjoyed, and it occurs to me that I wouldn’t mind doing it again. I won’t – I can’t – do it again when I get home,
not exactly, because it’s not about the drink. It’s about reliving that moment.

And then I realize that I wouldn’t mind singing Vespers again, or going back earlier, to lunch (a baked potato), or breakfast (fried eggs and toast), or Mass. The simplest little things have been a pleasure – reading the paper, feeding the cats, getting up, sleeping with cats, and so on back into yesterday. I would happily do it all
again, if I could, and I feel – there’s no other word for it – joyful.

What was, was. What is, is. What will be?

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Brightening sky – everything a bright gray through light snow.

Gray squirrels move like living punctuation marks in the snow. A comma suddenly becomes an exclamation point
and three semicolons go flying up a tree.

There are no letters at all until the crows arrive. First, two groups of four I’ve seen before, and then a few outsiders, three or four. Composing short poems as they peck for corn, they are swept up all at once then put back down again for more. But soon they’re gone for good, leaving only a few stray apostrophes on a blank page.

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upside down

White ground, black sky – clouds so thick in the morning, the sky was almost black. It’s difficult to wake up.

Albino white squirrels are normal, perfectly camouflaged.

Gray trees branch and branch and branch again until their twiglets become clouds.

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moon pillow

In the morning, what’s left of the full moon rests in the center of a pillow of clouds.


A cat gets between my keyboard and me.
Without a word she takes all my attention.
With one look she renews my promise:
I will love her completely, forever.
What computer?

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almost back to normal

After Christmas cleaning up, shoveling snow and thinking about, but not making resolutions – not just yet. I’m not quite rested, so I eat leftovers of a great meal, and more pie.

It’s warm – 30 degrees – under a gentle sky. Brief sun gleams on fresh snow, but it soon eases behind thin clouds into soft, comfortable pastels.

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peace, literally

After a late night last night and warmth in a new robe and pajamas, I watch slow snow with a big slice of fresh-baked pumpkin pie generously loaded with whipped cream. The smell of baking still hangs in the air.

Merry Christmas.

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by the light of the silvery moon

Up early a day early – it’s not Christmas yet. It’s still dark, but the near-full moon gives plenty of light as I clear snow off the drive, off the deck. New snow and moonlight smooth over all the lumps and imperfections into flowing, voluptuous shapes. The wind last night certainly wasn’t gentle, but now the snow relaxes, graceful in repose.

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snow pie

Yesterday’s snow was a poor attempt at a pie crust with too much water, too warm. It froze all lumps and hard edges. Today we try again, this time with snow sifted into a fine powder. It falls imperceptibly, accumulates beyond our expectations, light and fluffy.

It should be delicious.

Later we drive out into the storm – not like us, but worth it to see tall buildings disappear into swirling snow, superheated cars creep through the cold, dark faces inside lit by glowing dials.

We finally slip from our own cocoon
into another – our garage…
and another – our home…
and another – our bed.

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dripping clean

An inch of wet, sticky snow, still dripping.
More importantly, it is cleansing the air,
and there’s an occasional gust of wind
as the temperature drops.

By the end of the day
squishy snow
turns to hard crust.

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