today was one of those strange days that began with everything coated in ice and ended with the temperature around eleven celsius . . . .
the paths are running with water, the snow hills are noticeably lower, and there's muddy sand everywhere - a residue left by the sanders out trying to make the walking and driving less treacherous.
henry david thoreau said, "In winter we lead a more inward life. Our hearts are warm and cheery, like cottages under drifts, whose windows and doors are half concealed, but from whose chimneys the smoke cheerfully ascends."
when i was little and new to canada, i loved to play with the snow hills as they turned into meltwater. it’s a lot like playing with mud on a rainy day. there’s the same satisfaction of building canals and reservoirs, the same thrill of watching the dammed up water suddenly race down the driveway along narrow ice-lined riverbeds towards the street, making its way underneath the snowbanks, and then finally rushing headlong towards the drain.
here’s a painting by landscape artist carol ressor.
here’s a brief poetic vision of a day like this.
warm winter day
first taking off one
then removing another.
warm winter day.
kiyoko tokutomi
just more grunt work in the yard and the peacock
11 hours ago
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