arrival

Melting snow darkens as it turns into slush. Otter Creek flooding in the usual places. Manure spreaders out on the roads. Another spring arrival, Girl Scout cookies!

One cannot be certain of living
even into the evening.

In the first dim light
I watch the waves
from a departing boat.

Shinkei
Zen page-a-day calendar

singing

Signs of spring. Robins gathering in nearby fields. Sump pump singing from the basement.

So many things become beautiful when you really look.
Lauren Oliver
Zen page-a-day calendar.

morning light

Driving into Rutland early in the morning for meditation, reflexively turning on the lights in the car and then realizing I didn't need them. There was enough morning light to see and be seen. Turning them back off.

spring training

14 degrees this morning, but temps in the 50's coming. Spring training has started in warmer climes.

I hear the wind blow, and I feel that it was worth being born just to hear the wind blow.
Fernando Pessoa
Zen page-a-day calendar

carve

Mark Twain said, "If you don't like the weather in New England, wait a minute."
Saturday morning the temperature was 12 degrees, by noon it was 48 degrees. It went from feeling like the dead of winter to the beginning of spring. Snow is melting quickly. Snow melt crossing roads, sound of water underneath the tires. Wind and sun "carve" at the snow that remains.

out here in the sticks

Yesterday I headed out to work and it was snowing again, but to just say that it was snowing doesn't come close to capturing the moment. The snow was coming softly but steadily out of the gray sky, straight down, like feathers, no wind, no sound. This is a beautiful photo, but, again, doesn't come close to capturing the muffled, silent majesty of just snowing.
I drove into Rutland filled with wonder and gratitude. It was snowing in Rutland as well, but it was no where near as compelling as those ineffable moments here on the other side of the creek. Ira is not a happening place. There's nothing going on here except the turning of the days, of the seasons, one after another. I'm so grateful to live here. Thornton Wilder puts it so well...

Artistic Lady in a Box. Mr. Webb!

Mr. Webb. Yes Ma'am

Mr. Webb, is there any culture or love of beauty in Grover's Corners?

Well ma'am, there ain't much, not in the sense you mean. Come to think of it, there's some girls that play the piano over at High School Commencement; but they ain't happy about it. No ma'am there isn't much culture; but maybe this is the place to tell you that we've got a lot of pleasures of a kind here: we like the sun comin' up over the mountain in the morning, and we all notice a good deal about the birds. We pay a lot of attention to them. And we watch the change of the seasons: yes, everybody knows about them. But those other things-you're right ma'am-there ain't much-Robinson Crusoe and the Bible; and Handel's Largo, we all know that, and Whistler's Mother-those are just about as far as we go.
Our Town
Thornton Wilder

whoosh

Another dusting of snow last night. Snow is starting to pile up along roadsides and in parking lots. Supposedly the eskimos have 100 words for snow. I don't have that many, but I have a few. The quality of the snow on my windshield changes from day to day. Sometimes it's crusted on. Sometimes  it slides of like a fried egg from a teflon pan. Sometimes it rests lightly on the top of the car, like powdered sugar or talcum powder. It blows away in a whoosh when I start down the road.

eaves

Some colors of the impending spring, reddish tinge on the branches of the maple trees. Campaign signs appearing on front lawns. Another snow event expected today. Icicles appearing on eaves.

snow

Starting to see some of the usual signs of winter around here that have been missing for awhile. Snowmobiles on trailers, snowblowers shooting snow into the sky. The snow is a real godsend for the ski industry. It's easy to forget how important just a few inches of snow can be in the lives of the people of this community.

more snow

More snow, almost a foot of it. Allyn has another snow day. She's been able to ski for the first time all year. Rumble of the snow plow at 5AM. Trudging through the snow to empty the ash bucket, then shoveling out the driveway. Owen got to take a ride in a sled with me behind a snowmobile the other day. This is the time of year for snow. It's wonderful to have it.

snow day

Snow day with Owen. What could be better?

sand

Yesterday when I went to work I found a quarter inch of ice on my car. Walking and driving were treacherous. Little branches and sticks were scattered everywhere from the evening's howling winds. Pickup trucks with snowplows attached were everywhere, yellow lights flashing. Sheets of ice flew off of semis heading to the bypass. Bought a couple of bags of sand. It is snowing this morning.

banshee

Winter storm last night. Wind howled like a banshee. Little ice pellets rained down by the millions. Allyn couldn't get out the door this morning

what's going on?

Was up early this morning. It was still dark when I walked out to the car. I heard a strange sound. At first I thought it was coming from some kind of exotic chicken in the neighbor's chicken coop. I kept listening, and finally I figured out what it was. It was a coyote,  yip, yipping high up on a hill. Then he let out a howl. I was immediately filled with a strong emotion. Thrilling comes close, but that's not exactly it. It was a primitive, elemental, deep feeling.
This has happened to me before. To have a very strong emotional reaction to something, but not be able to put a name to it. You would think that might happen with a weak, barely discernible emotional reaction, but not a strong one. I wonder what's going on here?

chewing

Took a walk in the woods yesterday to reinstall my trail camera. Animal tracks in the snow. Sound of a squirrel chewing on something overhead.

hissing

Sound of the iron pot hissing on the wood stove in the middle of the night.

That spring long ago at Naniwa in Tsu:
Was it all just a dream?
Now only dead leaves on the tall reeds
rustle in the wind.
Saigo
Zen page-a-day calendar

For Doug

Half your wood and half your hay should still be left by Candlemas Day. How you doin' Dougie?

snowflakes

Drove the 11/2 hours to the Zen Center last night. Roshi is heading to Costa Rica today so that was my last chance to see her for awhile. The lengthening of the days was very noticeable on the drive up.   New moon and Venus dancing together high overhead. Got home about 10:30, very tired. As I closed the garage door, noticed single snowflakes floating down out of the sky.

December 11, 2009
Dark coming to work today, 19 degrees. Almost two years ago I was walking over to production in the snow. Individual flakes were drifting slowly out of the sky. I noticed that some of the flakes were spinning, like a propeller. As always, it was very exciting for me to observe something new in the natural world. While I have seen snow spinning out of the sky since then, I have never seen that "propeller" effect in exactly the same way.
It is dark now when I leave work, but the parking lot is illuminated. On Monday night the snow was falling slowly out of the sky. I stopped to look for spinning snowflakes. I figured that if I was able to look at a flake high enough above me and follow it all the way down, I might see it spinning.
So there I was on the walkway at work, staring up into the sky. Don't really know for how long. Suddenly I noticed a couple of co-workers walking by me on the way to their cars. They didn't say anything, but gave off that "you're really weird, Jim" look that Shawn does so well. I panicked and quickly opened the door to my car except that it wasn't my car, it was the Tuttle company car. I made my way to my car, and opened the door except that it was actually Shirley's car (which looks a lot like mine). I finally limped across the parking lot to my car and drove home. Never did see any "spinners." Like Joni Mitchell said, "Something's lost, but something's gained in living every day."

One can travel the world and see nothing. To achieve understanding it is not necessary to see many things, but to look hard at what you see.
Giorgio Morandi