Saturday, March 26, 2011
the next day dawned cold and sunny
the power was on too
the branches made a musical clatter when the wind rushed through them
the ice underfoot crunched
the late March sun melted the ice into what sounded like a rainshower in the woods
the tress were sparkling
I was spellbound
a thousand pictures and a million words could not do this day justice
wish you were here
and in a very short time it was gone
Friday, March 25, 2011
It rained, rain
it iced, ice
then it snowed. snow!!!
then the power went out
then the phone went out
then...I went to bed
I stumbled up the steps and smacked into the door frame, I should have turned on the flashlight, but, I was conserving batteries, because out here you never know how long a outage will last.
That is why I have an electric cook stove, and electric clocks.
Errrrr, no that can't be right.
Curled up under the flannel sheets and quilt and Mexican wool blanket, there in the dim light from outside I drifted off into a peaceful world of dreams.
Woke as usual, right before 7, but the house was still dark and sleet was tapping on the windows, and still no power.
The perfect excuse to enjoy and Coke and cookies for breakfast. Coke and cookies by candlelight,
what more could I ask for.
It is almost normal for the power to go out here, and when I get tired of playing "olden days" I can just go out and start the generator. But I usually don't, unless the outage goes on long enough for me to be concerned about the freezer thawing out.
I love the silence, it is awesomely powerful. Living so near a major road, people keep asking if the traffic noise bothers us. Quite simply it is just background noise, and there really isn't that much traffic to hear. However when there is little or no traffic, I do notice it's absence.
But thIs morning was muted, in color and in sound. And I was in no hurry for the power to come back on.
Sunday, March 20, 2011
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
Sunday, March 6, 2011
It had rained hard, really hard all night long and most of the day before, the huge piles of snow that some kind person had shoveled off Ivy's sidewalks, had almost vanished. Someone had even cleaned off her car after each of the storms. Storms came one after the other this year. making it very hard for her to get out and run errands or shop. Spring was beginning to win out over winter at last.
The old cottage had been built over a spring, there was a large cement trough in the basement which was once used to keep the milk from Grandpa Dawson's small heard of cows cold. You could now hear the sound of running water in almost every room in the house. Ivy was in the kitchen scrubbing the saucepan she had used to make some pudding from scratch. She stood at the sink looking down the hill to the stream where she could also see that the water was rising. Most of the the year it was scarcely more that a thin rill. There was a bridge across the little creek, it had been there for as long as she could remember, some years it would be washed away, Gus Nelson who had bought most of the old farm, would rebuild it each time. Gus was probably 80 or more years old now, so his daughter ran the farm, but he still drove the tractor and did what he could.
The sun was sinking low and Ivy was thinking about the daffodils that would bloom along the stream very soon, wondering about who had planted them, or if indeed anyone had. The very hardy bulbs could have been washed downstream and planted themselves there during an long ago Spring flood. Spring was indeed coming,but not soon enough to suit Ivy. She put on her thick socks and slippers and headed up the stairs to her chair near the attic window. Drawing the blanket around her, she turned on her lantern.
Snow was beginning to fall, just a few large flakes at first, as people began to appear at their windows and wave at one another. Ivy sat curled in her chair enjoying the falling snow. thinking to herself, how much she would like to find out who it was that cleaned the walks and swept off her car
Saturday, March 5, 2011
I walked out to enjoy the night.
It was warmer that it had been in months, and the scent of earth, and deep woods was enough to make me want to stand there forever, just stand there, and wait to see what happens next.
The bare branches, rustling a little in the breeze. As my eyes became more accustomed to the dark I could see more and more stars. If I didn't know those were suns in other solar systems, I would think that they were fires, very distant fires , blazing across the plain of the earth. I am sure I would wonder about the people who built those fires, were they peaceful, or were they warriors? Would I ever meet up with any of them, and would I want to?
humid night, quiet dreaming of the winter's wood the curtains are still