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
MESSY BOOTS AND POCKETS OF JOY
3 days ago
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