Are We There Yet?

2:20p The sun has arrived for a short visit. Dark clouds gather over Marlboro and the slender threads of light pierce through atmosphere heavy with moisture. We swim through the woods in this heady oxygen rich landscape. The leaves have grown fingernail sized and pale translucent green to dinner plate sized dark green shade for the lush canopy above me. The woods are spongy with water. Trees are giving up their purchase in the soil, first leaning against their neighbors and then, finally, falling to the ground. Huge and full of life. Not diseased just overwhelmed by water. I get that. I am overwhelmed too. We all are. People have left their rain boots and coats in the back hall. We have given into the wet on our collars and the fine fringe of damp in our hair. What's a little dampness at this point? We are all comrades in this gathering of clouds settled over our heads. The Mountain is obscured. And everywhere there is the noise of rushing water. Water runs racing to the rive...

Someone told me yesterday that the snow in march is only to be expected. She said that March to her was like a sulky adolescent. The days vary from cold damp to moments of blissful warm in the shelter of the south facing terrace pocketed between the porch's el and the two overly large arbor vitae. The is still a considerable amount of snow on the ground, added to yesterday by another few inches. It was a lovely storm. Thick blanket of fine tiny flakes that obscured the mountain entirely. I had an appointment out Guilford way. Along the Weatherhead Hollow I could see little. A few geese were skating low over the pond and the road was covered with snow. So I had to slow down. Take a look at this and that- the funny farm house that rests so to the road- angled so that its front a left side are inches from the curving bend. A mail box is nailed to the side, rusted and looking unused. The clapboards are grey, and the roof slates peaking through the snow are dark and glossy. I love that...

We had another day of winter weather. This was punctuated by power outages, car stuck in the driveway, another car stuck out on the road, and a declining spirit. The day seems to swallow me whole! But its almost over, the cars tucked away where they need to go and all well with all involved. The fire is burning hot. Pasta in my tummy. I'm off to bed.

0 degrees this morning. A long night of no sleep made this moment particularly poignant.  When the brain is deprived of the essentials, everything has a peculiar caste to it. 

It must be 8 weeks now. Back when the Thanksgiving meal was still settling into my belly and the prospect of Christmas was keeping me awake at night. I got a cold. It was nothing, a non-cold, a couple of days inconvenience and then back to the business of life. But this cold left with me a visitor. A little tickle in the throat and a small wheeze in my chest that has kept me company ever since. Each week I watch the light get just a bit brighter, the shadows changing from main event to supporting members and think, this week my cough, this constant ahem in my throat will fade away and the mornings will become moments of silence once again. No more clearing my throat, no more blowing my nose, no more hack and snarf. No more buying kleenex in bulk, no more sneezing three times in a row. This is not fun or entertainment or occupation. Well- perhaps occupation of another sort- my body has been occupied by an invader- unwelcome guest. The strategies to oust the interloper have included ...