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Archive for the ‘weather’ Category

Glistening clouds of snow blanket the ground, the roof, the roads.

You may know these mornings.  Quiet, a dog barking in the distance, conifers silhouette a deep blue sky brightening before an orange-stroked sunrise.

Winter storms pass, leaving moments of unsullied stillness. Beneath the blanket and cold, some things sleep, some perish, some wait – much like memory. Other than the energy of our blood and bones we are only memory. Some memories finally pass, others will only pass when we do.

The sun will soon dazzle the landscape with its untrammeled brilliance, blinding thought to anything but glory. Then the blankets will fray to fluid and reveal again what lies there. 

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From dawn to dusk, strong winds and fleets of rain.

At sunset, the instability blew off. The sky is bright on the western horizon, clouds lit with rusty pink ageing to pewter grey.

On a walk with the dogs, the streets are empty, the very air animated.

The wind is playing where children usually do, rolling balls down the street, pushing over trash cans.

Passing a swing set, the single swing flies high back and forth, ghostly in its trajectory, as if weighted by a child.

I swung a small child in such a swing once.  The child and that swing have long blown away.  The wind is like that.

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Wintry Mix

It started as pelting sleet, cold thoughts melting on arrival.

Gaining fortitude, graupel fell, bouncing with more intention.  Then snow, thick, real, and complex, making a statement.

But not for long. Unfavorable conditions, the parties withdrew.  Nobody noticed.

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Rain falling on a sloped skylight gently shrugs distant treetops downward.  But it is raindrops on the skylight, not the trees, that are falling.

From below in a beautiful protected space, tears fall down my face. I will be okay. It is the tears that are falling, not me.

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A grey dun flock spirals upward in the spotlight of a towering freeway fixture in an early morning downtown snowstorm.  Schooling fish of the air, the birds, transcendent, wheel high above massive dark overpasses and funneling commuter traffic.

Amid the metal and cavern of a high concrete parking garage, I watch.

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First snow of the season, hugging tree, street, and sidewalk.

Shuffling westward, ankle deep, the sidewalk snow was pristine.  Cars and trucks lumbered by inches away, but the blemish-free snow underfoot made for undiscovered country in the most common of places.

Several blocks on, I came upon an east-going traveler.  Bundled more expertly than me against the temps and terrain, she walked the same print-dash-print-dash as me, a Morse code trail heading the opposite direction.

When we crossed paths, my cheery greeting was met with a smile.  Thereafter I did something I usually only think about–I walked in the footsteps of someone else.

The print-dash-print was longer than mine.  Walking in her tracks, already forged, made for easier walking.  But in the exchange, the unbroken potential had disappeared.  The snow, both ridged and flattened, was defined, in a glance it was, rather than what it could be.

Walking forward I unwound her past, reliving steps already in her memory–just as she was likely inhabiting mine.

I turned off on a side street. Our paths diverged. My eyes, not my feet, traced the path of her westward past. A forecast for incoming waves of snow will clear the canvas for the next travelers coming this way.

 

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