and the nothing that is

 Full moon, the "Wolf" moon last night.

OK, not a wolf, but a coyote (I think) taken with my new trail cam.

Heading into the coldest stretch of the winter. Temperatures below zero and wind chills 20 below. I think the morning walk may be on the treadmill.

The Snow Man

By Wallace Stevens

One must have a mind of winter

To regard the frost and the boughs

Of the pine-trees crusted with snow;

And have been cold a long time

To behold the junipers shagged with ice

The spruces rough in the distant glitter

Of the January sun, and not to think

Of any misery in the sound of the wind,

In the sound of a few leaves,

Which is the sound of the land

Full of the same wind

That is blowing in the same bare place

For the listener who listens in the snow,

And nothing himself beholds

Nothing that is not there and the nothing that is.

seasons

 The Christmas season is over. We took out the tree the other day.

Yeah, yeah, I know.

Season of smoke, season of icicles.

and yet...

 Another couple of inches of snow yesterday. Primary colors are white, brown, and gray. Yet... it is still light out at 5:00. A month ago it was dark at 5. The birds are making much more noise now on the daily walk. Not every day but some days. There are the usual calls of the crows and jays, but they seem much more energetic. There are new sounds coming from the birds. I think the chickadees have changed from their winter call to their spring call, establishing their territory. It also sounds that there are some new birds that have made it back from wherever they've been.

There are a couple of maple sap gathering places on the walk. Yesterday I saw some signs of activity at one of them.

It might be wishful thinking on my part, but maybe they are gearing up for the sap gathering season, checking their taps and lines. We haven't heard from the guys that tap at our place, but I know that in year's past they have gotten started in January. They have even had some sap runs if we're experiencing a January thaw (not this year). It's not obvious but things are changing.

 

Whether through the patterns left in snow, or geese honking in the dark, or the brilliant wet leaf that hits your face the moment you are questioning your worth, the quiet teachers are everywhere, pointing us to the unlived portion of our lives.

Mark Nepo

Zen page-a-day calendar

liminal

 I was on the road early Sunday morning. I had caught a couple of mice in the garage with my Hav A Hart traps and was transporting them to their new home. On Being, with Krista Tippett, was on the radio. She was interviewing Katherine May on her book, Wintering. 

Tippett: You talk about snow as such a unique and complex experience, and loving snow, even has a complex experience.

May: I think snow--what I love about snow is the way it makes a clean break. It transforms the landscape.

Everything's different. Everything sounds different. The light kind of sparkles off it. You know, before you open the curtains, that snow has landed. And, for me, I just think that's  such a gift. I know it's less of a gift if it's there for five or six months. But it's a break in the routine. It's a little like a kind of pause. You can't go about your normal business. School chucks out. But you get to see your world in a different way. And it is beautiful.

I grew up in quite an unbeautiful place, and snow used to make it beautiful. And I used to absolutely love that. And now I live in a very beautiful place, and snow makes it magical instead, when it comes.

Tippett: Somewhere you say that snow creates a liminal space, a crossing point between the mundane and the magical.

 

It was gratifying to hear someone else weigh in on what I had been seeing and feeling. May had so much more to say in this interview that was interesting. I would recommend it to anyone.

Happy Birthday to Shawn, my other daughter!

winter

 The middle of winter. Sometimes there is a thaw at this time, but not this year. We had a number of days in a row with 1-2 inches of snow. It was wonderful.

It felt like I was living in a cloud, in a world of whiteness. Even walking on a snow covered road felt like walking on a cloud. As one of the blog readers said the other day, the snow muffles sound. There were quite a few days when cars got very close when approaching from behind before I heard them, again projecting this feeling of softness/cloudness. The characteristic of the snow would change during the course of the day, falling softly like feathers, then buzzing around in the sky like white-colored gnats.

The last couple of days have been sunny and cold, 6 below zero in the morning. 

Scraping sound of a snow shovel on a driveway. Clatter of icicles falling on the bricks outside the front door as they are unmoored from the eaves by the afternoon sun. There has been a lot of snowmobile activity. Cars with snowmobile trailers on country roads, tracks in the snow.

I know this will all get very old by the end of February, but for right now, things are the way they're supposed to be in January. Happy to be a part of it.

 

 

 

The new dawn

 

The new dawn blooms as we free it.

For there is always light

If only we're brave enough to see it.

If only we're brave enough to be it.

 

The Hill We Climb

Amanda Gorman

hopping around

 Experiencing some snowy days. It's that time of year. 

I went up to check on our new trail camera the other day. It was snowing so the old tracks had been covered over with fluffy snow. There were a few new tracks and virtually all of them, about a half dozen, were rabbit tracks. I didn't realize how many rabbits there are hopping around the place.