SNOW PICTURES OF THE GARDEN

PETS

It seems like a lifetime ago that the weather here in my hometown changed from 40 F plus to temperatures in the minus degrees. Minus 19F in places, I read. The coldest it has been here in seventy years. Daisy, my almost 18-year-old schnauzer, has only been outside twice in the last week. A mid-afternoon when the wind dropped, and the sun came out. Since then, we have both struggled to comply with the need for her to be inside and do her business. Still, she eats, while sometimes taking a foot wash, drinks, and runs around the kitchen after me, sleeping for hours afterward.

Once I forced myself to brave the snow, clad in tall wellies (Wellington boots) over trousers and layers of clothes, we ventured forth, encouraged by a request from a fellow writer and neighbor. Henry, his feet coated with paw protection, has a blast in the slightly compacted snow with my neighbor and her dog, Mickey. Following the path left by the toboggan sliders at the top of the slope, Henry slid, rolled, and shook his head at me, his eyes bright with the excitement of being free and hides under my sweater to get warm afterward.

WRITINGS

From the last gathering of the Blue Bottles Writing Studio and the Micro Fiction prompt The Roost, here is Debi Hanuscin’s story.

The Roost by Debi Hanuscin

One, two three, four… five… six… seven. Seven of the herons were now roosting in the tree above her. She kept her chin tilted up just enough to keep her eyes on them as she started down the trail. Funny, she hadn’t seen them there before. She was usually quite observant– well, in the sense that she seemed to look everywhere except where she was walking. She consciously looked down to ensure she didn’t trip on her way up the steep slope.   

She knew herons symbolized patience, wisdom, and good fortune– and that seven was associated with completeness and perfection. That made her smile as she thought how appropriate it was. This trail was one of her favorites– she often walked it alone in silence, drinking in the peacefulness of nature, pausing at the top of the ridge to gaze out over the water. Her busy and demanding job meant she never had quite enough time to get out and enjoy it– she always seemed to just squeeze in a quick walk here and there, and that never quite satisfied her need to take a break fully. She kept waiting for her workload to ease up, but things just kept piling on. Though she worked hard, she never felt like she achieved success.  Oh, if she could just roost here like one of those herons, she mused. No email, no phone calls, no bills to pay… no to-do list… no vacuuming, no dusting, no laundry… the more she thought about it, the more perfect it sounded. And, to be able to fly! 

At this last thought, she stretched out her arms and lifted her chin, eyes closed, to the sun. -A sudden gust of wind at her back caught her by surprise. It seemed to push on her arms in an odd way, causing her to lose her balance– what in the….? She opened her eyes just in time to see- was that feathers?!?! – As her body tumbled off the ridge, panic flooded her and she began to flail her arms. Immediately, her descent slowed. She turned her head and looked at her arms–  they were… WINGS!  She flapped them expecting it to feel awkward, but it was as if she had always had them. She intuitively knew what to do. She soared into the sky, heading towards the tree, and joined the other seven herons in their roost. They were now eight. A number symbolic of a new beginning and prosperity. How perfect, she thought.

BOOKS

Just finished reading I am, I am, I am, a memoir by Maggie O’Farrell. I loved it, loved it, loved it. Now, I am half way through The Light of the World by Elizabeth Alexander, a memoir/autobiography. I wholeheartedly agree with a statement on the back cover. ‘A lyrical celebration of a life well-lived’.

Thank you for reading this blog. Enjoy the day

EJP