hungry

a bright sun, almost too bright
snow slowly melting back from the edges of the driveway
ice crystals, matted plants
leaving patches of bare ground on southerly slopes
but I can’t get too comfortable
there’s still a cold wind
it refreshes but won’t let me stand still

plants visible
but the ground frozen hard
growing indoors – wheatgrass only now, for the cats (to keep them out of the houseplants)
hungry for green
hungry for growth
hungry for life
that isn’t here yet

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crusty

Only just below freezing, refrozen snow crystals are large and clumsy.

I rake snow off the roof to keep the gutters clear. As it warms I wash black grime off the cars, and slosh a month’s worth of winter scum off the garage floor.

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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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warm purr

It’s difficult to type around a cat. Moby sits between me and my keyboard, between my arms. And every anxious, busy thought I have gets lost in his warm, curled body, his soft fur, his purr.

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hot-footed happiness

I’ve known for a long time that happy (warm, dry) feet make for a
happy backpacker, but I never thought about it much at home. I thought
my feet were happy enough around the house, and as long as they didn’t
hurt I didn’t give them a second thought. But now I sit at my desk
with the house cool and a little space heater at my feet, and the
warmth rises up from the very tips of my toes to the top of my balding
head and I bask in a glow of contentedness. With toasty toes I feel
great. Gears turn in my head that haven’t turned in years. There’s no
telling what I might cook up.

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bright cold

A luminous early morning – clouds break up; sun breaks through,
bright and beaming – hope. It hurts my eyes.

I water our young trees again, though it’s barely above freezing. My
wet hands hurt from the cold, but it’s done.

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a parody of snow

Flakes the size of your hand, a riot of colors, and noisy – wisecracking, chuckling, snickering piles of leaves pretending to be snow. Telling jokes, they keep cracking up before they get to the punch line. They try to hold still, then fidget, jostle for a better position, and then burst out laughing. All day I hear them rustling. Leaves. I’ll miss them in the cold, black and white silence of winter.

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windows open

There’s nothing quite so refreshing, and calming, and peaceful-sleep-making as the smell of a house with its windows wide open for the first time in spring, welcoming a breeze full of the promise of rain.

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6:18:53 PM

I cleaned the garage, washing out winter’s salt and sand, and
early spring’s mud.

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Last night’s moon started out big, warm and yellow, but by this morning,
at 3 degrees, it was small, cold and white. It stayed cold, too – peaking
here at about 14.

There’s nothing like cold weather to point out all the leaky doors
and windows in a house. I spent some time this morning stuffing some
stubborn cracks around the front door. It’ll be due for a complete
re-weatherstripping come spring.

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