January has turned mean. After days of mild temperatures and confused daffodils poking their leaves above the ground to test the sun, winter has revealed itself in its brittle, nasty splendor. The howling wind finds its way into every crack of every window frame, whistling like a soprano ghost, and shakes the storm door like a drunk trying to force his way inside. And it's OK. January is just being January. This, too, is part of what living in New England is like. The good news is that I finally remembered (yesterday) to turn off the water to the outside hose and open the spigot. The bad news is that those bulbs never did find their way into the ground to surprise me in March.
In a way, the image of naked black lace trees against the gray sky is beautiful in its starkness. There's a bone-bare essence to the scene that means business. The frippery of Christmas has been stripped away (except for my porch lights, of course) and the business of moving forward has begun. While the weather turns colder, the days are also getting longer and I know what comes next. We are inching towards the spring, towards kinder days and softer colors, towards yellow and purple crocuses and an invitation to remain outdoors, feel the breeze and breathe the air.
Meanwhile I wonder why birds don't freeze solid, and how they manage to clutch telephone wires with their tiny feet as they face that unsympathetic wind. I worry about the homeless, who, with their refusal to accept help, either because of an ill-advised issue of dignity, or an unwillingness to part with the weapons which make them feel safe, are no better off than the birds.
I have no right to complain as I sit in my sheltered house, with a scarf around my neck and a thick hooded sweater to take off the chill, still it's hard to be optimistic on a day as mean as this one. But as I said, I know what comes next.
In a way, the image of naked black lace trees against the gray sky is beautiful in its starkness. There's a bone-bare essence to the scene that means business. The frippery of Christmas has been stripped away (except for my porch lights, of course) and the business of moving forward has begun. While the weather turns colder, the days are also getting longer and I know what comes next. We are inching towards the spring, towards kinder days and softer colors, towards yellow and purple crocuses and an invitation to remain outdoors, feel the breeze and breathe the air.
Meanwhile I wonder why birds don't freeze solid, and how they manage to clutch telephone wires with their tiny feet as they face that unsympathetic wind. I worry about the homeless, who, with their refusal to accept help, either because of an ill-advised issue of dignity, or an unwillingness to part with the weapons which make them feel safe, are no better off than the birds.
I have no right to complain as I sit in my sheltered house, with a scarf around my neck and a thick hooded sweater to take off the chill, still it's hard to be optimistic on a day as mean as this one. But as I said, I know what comes next.
RSS Feed