Through the rain

It has been raining for several days, with rain in the forecast for the next few days as well. I'm just ignoring the "wintry mix" aspect of the forecast until I actually encounter it. The frequency of rain in October is a familiar thing, but all of this rain is probably why I think of October as the month of rainbows. As if there isn't enough color in the trees and burnished fields, a sudden golden light will spill through the clouds, casting rays of colored light on the sky. It is so beautiful that I wonder how everyone else can just go about their business-as-usual. I look up in wonder, catch my breath and soak the color into my being. I hope I can absorb enough color in this bountiful month to hold me through gray November and the bleak white months that follow.

Where ever you are, whatever the weather, I wish you color and beauty.

October Lake

It is July... we all know that. Except for the lake and sky. The lake thinks this is October. Abrupt white rimmed waves are churning beneath the clouds. Reflecting that moody sky, the water is cold steel gray. The sky reaches down, with fingers of cool damp air, and catches pedestrians in an uncomfortable grip. Wind tosses long hair away from disappointed faces. Summer at the lake is supposed to be white sails on blue water, brightly clad people on smooth sand, sunlight caressing warm skin.

Resigning myself to this brief spell of Autumn in Summer's midst, I have nestled under some blankets with a text book and a warm mug of coffee. Oh... and my laptop! Wherever you are, whatever the weather, I wish you comfort and contentment!

photo by Aisling, from autumn

Seasons Within Seasons

Some of us enter January cautiously, I think, stepping carefully as if we are walking on uncertain ground. We will have to find our footing to move forward. What will we find beneath our feet in these cold days of January? Ice? Slush? Cold bare earth? What will we find in this year ahead? There is no way to know, so we look toward spring... walking toward the light and vibrancy that we believe in, despite the season at hand... and we begin to move in that direction, one well-placed step at a time.

Having analyzed my response to January, and having said all that I've written above, trepidation is hardly a personality trait that I want cultivate in myself. Rather, I want to live in January as fully and richly as I do in those days of light that I am walking toward. Last year I wrote about embracing winter. This is still a goal for me. I will be 45 late in this year, and do not want to continue that childlike habit of wishing time away. I tend to make goals, to plan for them, to strive for them... but I do not want to hurry toward them letting the days pass in a blur as I make a bee-line for my aspirations.

There are seasons within seasons, and I do not want to miss any of them. These early days of January may be sluggish and frozen in this northern region, but there will most likely come a few days late in the month where the sun seems to shine more brightly and the snow will melt away. We call this the January Thaw, a term that any of you who live in similar northern locales will be familiar with.

There are days in February when the ice finally freezes into a thick frozen blanket over the smaller lakes and ponds, and people around here shake the spiders out of their ice skates. Deep inside of February are days so cold that the snow snaps beneath our boots and our warm breath leaves our mouths and noses in frosty white clouds. Silence seems to hang in the air like a palpable thing, in that season, so thickly that any sound stands out in crisp relief. Those are the days when it is worth it to head out into the weather just for the experience of coming back indoors. It is then that I have the deepest realization that home is a haven; a place of warmth and comfort and familiarity. Let the winds outside the windowpane blow, and bring on the hot chocolate!

There are little micro-seasons in March that take my breath away with their promise. These are flirty days of warmth and color. This comes before spring, but winter always has her last hurrah, no matter what the calendar proclaims.

So, trepidation be gone! I am walking into January, stepping out onto Winter's path awake to all the nuances of the season... listening for the seasons within Winter that will speak to my heart.

photo by my daughter Haiku, January 1, 2009 - Is this dandelion really trying to bloom?

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A Little Note about Nothing Much...

This morning everything is dripping from night rain, but the sun is shining through the clouds over the eastern hills. We are expecting fair weather for the weekend, though seasonally cool, so my "to do" list grows longer: roll up and bring in the garden hose, clip back some plants that are "done" for the year, cut back dead blooms on the mums, and bring in the rag rug from the front deck. As I wrote this post, the softest rain began to fall, so I ran outside and took a couple of photos. The photo below is of one end of a rainbow across the western sky.

I've included a photos of sunflowers and yellow-orange mums taken this morning. You can see those flowers looking very different, in this post a year ago today.

photos by Aisling, October 12, 2007

Missing the Moon...

On the second, the Hunger Moon lit the night sky. Somewhere up there, it was full and round and bright, but I did not catch a glimpse. On the drive home from town earlier that afternoon, the sun was shining weakly through banks of heavy cloud. As I went further north, it suddenly appeared as if the road dead-ended at a solid white wall. The only way home was forward, so on I went into a world of white - white road, white sky, white air - seeing nothing beyond a few feet in front of my vehicle.

Fortunately, we made it up the steep hill and down the winding narrow road that takes us home. From that moment until now, the snow has not stopped. Yesterday, we braved the roads to take Haiku to a friend's birthday party and, as a consequence of that choice, today Limerick had to brave worse roads to bring her home. He had to leap at the chance early this morning when a neighbor plowed the road and the end of our driveway. There was a good possibility that he wouldn't make it out later, as the snow is falling and the wind persisting.

The dark towering maple trees on the back hill look like pale white birches. Snow is clinging to the entire length of each branch, pressed into place by the force of the wind. My candle is already burning on the kitchen window-sill. I am definitely not going out in this weather... Even Maude our intredip German Wire-Hair Pointer, does not want to linger outdoors. Today, I'll get my daily dose of fresh air from the cold wind whistling through the edges of the front door!

photo of Maude, by Aisling, February 3, 2007