Thursday, January 13, 2011

Four Days After the Fall . . .

Snow makes whiteness where it falls.
The bushes look like popcorn balls.
And places where I always play,
Look like somewhere else today.
-Marie Louise Allen


You can tell we don't get much snow in Georgia by all the amateur photos that have been brandished around on FB and local blogs. For the record, all that stuff that looks like snow is covered with a hard icy glaze, nearly impossible to walk on. I don't ever remember a snowfall like this in Decatur. These photos were taken today in the yard, a full four days after the storm. Some melt has begun, but it is still very icy. Tomorrow will mark the fifth day schools have been closed. Somehow, the ice didn't stick to the trees, so we've not lost electrical power. For us, it's been a quiet, warm, and cozy four days, though I know it's not been as easy for everyone. Good time to curl up with a good book, and I had one of the best. Cutting for Stone, by Abraham Verghese. Luscious. dkm

Tuesday, January 4, 2011

To Makayla and Nickolas . . .

. . . after an hour of soaking up your joie de vivre in the simple act of chasing and catching leaves on a breeze:

I have but one request---that in the time it takes for me to grow old and you to grow up, we choose often to sit outside together giving heed to the things of beauty in the natural world---to the shape of a bird’s beak, for instance, or the pattern of its flight, the building and tending of its nest, the care of its young---to the slant of a sun’s ray, or the glint of its reflection on a pine needle, its blinding bounce from a bird’s copper roof, its flash in the birdbath, its dependable reach, its warmth on our knees---to the elasticity of the skin on the back of your hands, the wrinkle of mine---or as we did today, to the fall of one leaf, the single ride of its life, remembering its lime green tenderness when new, its deep green strength when mature, its powerful red seasoning as it nears death, its cleansing brown decay that nourishes the earth long after it is gone, metaphor for you and me---to the wind on our faces and the way it takes the shape of our lungs before it moves on, the breath of the universe. Love, Omi