A Robin has more than once visited the crabapple in my front yard during these past two weeks, even in the midst of the last cold snap; odd, to see that red-breasted fellow out so far ahead of the Spring. The temperature rose more than fifty degrees in just one week, melting away much of this winter's accumulation and giving all of us a welcome lift. High winds blew in with the full moon on Thursday night--oh it was wicked-bright! white and azure and magenta, ringed in rainbows--while smoke-blue clouds chased each other eastward, faster than imagination...The winds remained strong while the moon traveled through Friday, carrying along with them a rush of cold, another drop. Yesterday was breezy, with veils of grey that came and went, opening and closing with clear amber light. Today comes more, more, more snow.
It's hard to believe that another moon has come and gone already. The past two weeks have been full of change, separation, reunion... Time spent with dear friends--many old and some new, all bearing gifts of one kind or another--has set my mind both back and forward, rekindling fires of memory, sending up smoke signals to my future self. What will I do with the rest of my life, and with whom will I share the time I have?
I took a short walk yesterday, leaving my camera behind, and happened across something new to me. On the sidewalk were scattered a number of seedpods, oval in shape, dark brown in color, and about twice the size of a fava bean. I cracked one with my boot and stooped to take a closer look, when I saw one of its much larger sisters lying closeby. It was about half the size of my palm, leathery-brown and mostly flat with a slightly bulbous middle. I gave it a shake and it rattled gently. I pressed to crack it open, and was surprised to find the interior coated with bright green hairs of jelly which had a pleasant, fruity scent. A rounded, dark seed about the size of a hazelnut was tethered inside. I brought a couple home:
I'm tempted to go out for a ski on the freshly falling snow, but I believe I'd rather wait until the wind stops blowing. The chores of the day ask little of me, only to move about and take care of things, although with my neck in a state even the smallest of doings can be a pain...Ah, so. To work, then: paint today, change tomorrow. White falls quietly and the silence begs an answer, to which I can only reply: What are you? Then I'll turn on the radio.