Most days find me lacking a communication device...when the south wind blows, it takes away the satellite. Matter of fact, should the wind blow at all- disconnect. I throw snow balls at the roof top disc, angrily, impatiently- trying to smack it back online, doesn't necessarily work- but it helps with my frustration levels.
Ah yes! Snow! I read some good advice the other day- for one to survive the winter in Maine- one ought to accept the truly winter way instead of trying to endure it. A strong athlete might be able to train for a marathon I suppose, with the end in sight of 26 miles, and learn to endure- with only 4 miles to go...but trying to endure a seemingly never ending, no end in sight Maine winter, well I suppose it could make one batty, delirious for Key West and points further south.
My metal will be tested for sure come April, but for now I accept the sounds of Maine- snow crunching, crispy under each step I take. Snowflakes falling with a whisper, landing softly on pine boughs- from the dark and day sky, they tumble from some unseen shaker up above. And when it seems the lid has been removed, the flake's fall comes in a hush, hush, wish, wish...all around, that loveliest of sounds-snowfall.
On my walks I see so far and wide- white. Bright in it's avalanche of glow, but deeper in the snow, in the pockets- blue, snow blue! As if the great unseen's hand passed over the landscape with sno cone syrup, adding a blueberry richness to the flavor of one's senses.
"I am in
and the snow is gentler now, coming from fewer clouds perhaps than it was showering down from bulked up fronts earlier. Snow- from my first winter here in Maine is a constant presence in the landscape. Walking my two mile a day trails, I often find myself gazing upon a great Pine up the road a ways- I stand in the road, transfixed as the tree that holds my attention. I often wonder why I’m drawn to it’s presence- maybe it’s twisted, gnarly branches remind me of my own troubles, maybe it’s upward growth despite the weather’s wickedness inspires me. I think the real reason I stand here as it stands there is because of it’s solemnity in the landscape... This area is alive with wilderness- moss hangs from the branches of the smallest to the greatest, even in winter time- the jungle never slumbers. My tree sees all, knows all, feels all and stands upright yet pliable enough to take the calm with the storm. Yes, I see myself in that tree and am remarkably proud of us both...." Maine,
Walking A Ways 2010