Sun-kissed planet

The ice will be gone tomorrow.
Today’s sunshine left a kiss—a now frozen starburst within the mosaic surface of our pond.

We skated here last night, under a starry sky—gazing off to the point beyond all brightness. And savored the moments alone with our thoughts.


A speck of life in this vast darkness.

Where discussions revolve around foreign policy and health care, immigration and gun control, budget and economy.

While all that really matters—
revolves around the sun.

No ice.

Usually, if we are lucky enough to have thick ice on the pond--thick enough for skating--it will arrive in January. Ice skates tower in boxes on the top shelf of our coat closet. Black skates, white skates, figure skates, hockey skates--we have them all, in all sizes. Perched precariously, waiting for the day we may excitedly lift them down--and walk, wobbly-footed out onto the pond, to skate under Orion's watchful care.

But, this week's balmy weather roared through the house like a bellows--we won't have ice for skating any time soon.

The warmth lets me linger a little more on the trails, and look a bit further than a brisk walk allows.
Without the distraction of leaves and colorful grasses, these under-appreciated lives take center stage.





Bright, rich color.
Texture and delicacy.
Geometry.

Lichens--layers of life, sharing space.

And, even in January, a spider.

I don't believe ice-skating is in the stars.

A winter day

I fell in love with snow as a child.
Bundled in snow pants and the bulky hand-knit hats and mittens that grown-ups chose to do without, as they race from their warm homes or businesses to snowy cars in no more than a sweater and street shoes, becoming miserably chilled from scraping ice off a windshield with a credit card or bare hand—I delighted in the wintry world.
Dragging toboggans or with saucers tucked under our arms, we’d trudge through the woodlots behind our homes and spend the day sledding on the sand hills, covered with snow. For months, every radiator in our house was piled high with a continuous stream of the day’s icy, shed garments. The neighborhood basketball courts would be flooded for ice skating, and every yard sprouted a smiling snowman.

Now, in our more southern home, snow is light and infrequent.
I wait eagerly for the forecast of flurries, hoping it will necessitate a reunion with my favorite woolens—tucked away in a cedar closet for ten months, waiting for their few weeks of service.

The morning light is just beginning to filter through the trees.

Last night's frosty air settled on the few blades of grass and leaves not beneath snow.




And as soon as the ice is thick on the pond, we will hurriedly shovel paths.
There will only be a few days to play Fox & Geese.