Creek Journal ~ 2010-02-12
â˜¼ Imagine: In six weeks, the first tiny flowers appear in the lawn grasses, mustards mostly, tiny cruciferous signs of spring. Liars. Buds swelling, hints of red in the treetops along the ridge in the slanting first light of morning, cold light with little warmth blown by March winds. Counterfeit. Bluebirds trilling on the south ridge in the pines, throwing their voices ahead to June. Ventriloquial lip-sinkers.
â˜¼ We’ll get out today or have the National Guard air-drop bread, milk and beer–life’s essentials. Oh, and maybe some bran flakes, a big box of produce from Sweet Providence, some goodies from Harvest Moon, and Ann needs embroidery thread from Schoolhouse Fabrics. Surely The Guard takes requests before they come.
â˜¼ Winds have been horrendous up above us, and bad enough here on the ground in our holler, a snow-globe of swirling, stinging ice crystals that have flattened all our footprints–and those of the unfortunate wildlife who hopefully have survived the heavy drape over their table for weeks on end, while perhaps the tick populations have been decimated by this prolonged and brutal cold.
â˜¼ Imagine: a world where the water in the bowl in the chicken pen stays liquid all day long. A road that is safely passable east or west. A landscape safe for foot traffic without YakTraks. A wardrobe that does not include two scarves and a stupid-looking airplane-orange hat. A morning, afternoon and night not tethered to the woodstacks and stove, ashes and kindling. Imagine!
â˜¼ I hope to start a separate tab or two from the home page here. Just in the thinking stages yet. Maybe one for links and shorts–like these. And another for environmental issues, another for sustainability solutions, another for more lyrical prose about the landscapes, personal and terrestrial. Who knows. I’d like to keep this front page varied and “branded” with the “front porch conversations” flavor it has tried to maintain.
â˜¼ RE the image: these tracks appeared the first morning after the last snow-dump. A better picture could have been obtained if I had been suspended above these runes by a sky hook but none was available. From the size, a rodent: at play? out of his or her mind? into the spicebush brandy? Never saw anything like this before.